flowers of the oleander glistened in the sunbeams.

It was quiet in Silvio's room, for his mother was without in the garden
gathering grapes and figs for the evening. The invalid lay listening
for Rico's step, for this was the time of his usual visit. The wicket
opened: Silvio pulled himself up in his bed. A long black coat came
slowly toward the door,--it was the priest. Silvio did not think of
hiding himself this time. He stretched out his little arm as far as he
was able, to shake hands with the good man, before he had fairly
entered the room.

This welcome pleased the priest, who walked at once into the room, and
to the child's bedside, even though he saw Mrs. Menotti's form behind
him in the garden.

"This is right, my son," he said. "And how do you find yourself?"

"All right," said Silvio quickly; and, looking eagerly at the good man,
he added softly, "When may Rico go?"

Seating himself by the bedside, the good man said, a little pompously,
"To-morrow, at five o'clock, Rico will start, my son."

Mrs. Menotti entered as he was speaking, and it was with some difficulty
that the priest could quiet her enough to get a chance to tell his story
in a consecutive way, and to make himself understood; and all the time
he was speaking, Silvio's eyes were fixed upon his face like a little
sparrow-hawk.

He had come directly from Bergamo, where he had passed two days. He had