Week after week slipped by, but Silvio did not waver. He had a firm
ground of hope now by which to hold; and, moreover, Rico had become so
lively and amusing, that he was hardly to be recognized. It acted upon
him like a spark that kindled a joyful bonfire when he learned the
priest's comforting words; and a new life was awakened in the lad. He
knew more stories to tell Silvio than ever before; and when he took his
fiddle in his hand, he produced such heart-stirring tones and tunes,
that Mrs. Menotti could not tear herself from the room where the boys
were, and was full of astonishment at Rico's store of music.

It was only in this room at Mrs. Menotti's that Rico fully enjoyed his
instrument. It sounded so well in the large, lofty space, where it was
quiet and peaceful, without a taint of tobacco-smoke, or the clamor of
noisy men; and he was not confined to dance music, but at liberty to
play as his fancy directed. Every day he went with increasing pleasure
to Mrs. Menotti's, and often said to himself, as he entered, "This is
the way it must feel when one is entering his own home."

But it was not his home: he only was permitted to go there for a little
while, and away again.

There had come over Rico a very decided change within a short time; and
the landlady, who perceived it clearly, was greatly perplexed thereby.
When she placed a nasty broken pail of refuse before him, saying,
"There, Rico, carry this to the hens," he would step aside a little, put
his hands behind his back, to show that he did not mean to touch the
pail, and say quietly, "I prefer that some one else should do that;" and
when she brought out an old pair of shoes and handed them to him to
carry to the cobbler, he did the same, saying. "I prefer that you should
give them to another person to carry."