Come in here now, for a moment." And the teacher opened
the door, and took his fiddle from its place on the wall. "There," he
said, as he placed it on Rico's arm, "take the bow in your hand,--so, my
boy; and if you can play me _c, d, e, f_, I will give you a
half-gulden."
Rico had the fiddle really in his hand; his eyes sparkled with fire; _c,
d, e, f,_--he played the notes firmly and perfectly correctly. "You
little rascal!" cried the astonished teacher, "where did you learn that?
Who taught you? How do you find the notes?"
"I can do more than that, if I may," said the boy.
"Play, then."
And Rico played correctly, and with enthusiasm,--
"Little lambkins, come down
From the bright sunny height;
The daylight is fading,
The sun says, 'Good-night!'"
[Illustration: RICO PLAYED CORRECTLY, AND WITH ENTHUSIASM]
The teacher sunk into a chair, and put his spectacles on his nose. His
eyes rested on Rico's fingers as he played, then on his sparkling eyes,
and again on his hands. When the air was finished, he said, "Come here
to me, Rico;" and, moving his chair into the light, he placed the lad
directly before him. "Now I have something to say to you. Your father is
an Italian; and I know that down there all sorts of things go on of
which we have no idea here in the mountains. Now look me straight in the
eye, and answer me truly and honestly.
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