He had
always seen a picture of the lake before his eyes when he had sung,--
"One evening
In Peschiera,"
with his father, but he had never known the reason. He repeated the name
softly to himself, while one old song after another arose in his memory.
As he came back from the burial all alone, he saw the grandmother
seated on the log of wood, and Stineli by her side. She beckoned him to
come over to them. She gave the lad a bit of cake and another to
Stineli, and said now they might go off together for a walk. Rico ought
not to be alone.
So the children rambled off together, hand in hand. The grandmother
remained seated on her log, sadly gazing after the black-haired lad
until they had wandered slowly up the hillside and passed out of sight.
Then she said softly to herself,--
"Whate'er He does, or lets be done,
Is always for the best."
CHAPTER VI.
RICO'S MOTHER.
Along the road from Sils came the teacher leaning on his staff. He had
assisted at the burial. He coughed and cleared his throat; and as he
drew near to the grandmother and bade her "good evening," he seated
himself by her side. "If you have no objection, I will sit here with you
for a few moments, neighbor," said he; "for I feel very badly in my
throat and chest. But what can we expect when we are almost seventy
years old, and have witnessed such a funeral as this one to-day? He was
not thirty-five years of age, and as strong as a tree.
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