There she had certainly stood by the water-side, and washed
something, while she would look around at him occasionally, and say a
few loving words; and he was always sitting, he remembered, in that
very place where he now sat. He was always most unwilling to leave
this spot, but the knowledge that Silvio was constantly listening for
him drove him onward.
When he entered the garden, he had also a feeling of contentment; and
entered the neat, quiet house with pleasure. Mrs. Menotti had a more
truly friendly manner toward him than anybody else, and he was fully
sensible of her kindness. She felt the warmest pity for the lonely
orphan, as she called him; for she had also heard the story of his
escape as it was current in the neighborhood. She never asked him
questions concerning his life in the mountains, however; for she
thought it would arouse sad memories in his mind. She felt, also, that
Rico did not receive the care that a lad of his age and quiet
disposition really needed; but she was sensible that she could do
nothing in that direction, only to have him with her as often and as
long as possible. Often she would place her hand on his head, saying
sadly, "Poor little orphan!"
To Silvio, Rico grew more and more necessary every day. Early in the
morning he began to fret for him; and when his pain came on he became
very restless, and could not be pacified until Rico came.
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