He was now a tall, fourteen-year old stripling, and whoever laid eyes
upon him found him pleasing to look upon.
Once again the golden sun of autumn burnished the surface of the Lake of
Garda, and the heavens lay blue above the tranquil waves. In the garden
the great bunches of grapes hung gold against the trellises, and the red
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.
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