They traversed a long stretch of street together without speaking. The peasant halted at the door of an inn which had for its sign a star, and an inscription beneath, The Star of Italy. He thrust his face in, and turning to the boy, he said cheerfully, "We have arrived at just the right moment." They entered a large room, where there were numerous tables, and many men seated, drinking and talking loudly.

The old Lombard approached the first table, and from the manner in which he saluted the six guests who were gathered around it, it was evident that he had been in their company until a short time previously. They were red in the face, and were clinking their glasses, and vociferating and laughing. "Comrades," said the Lombard, without any preface, remaining on his feet, and presenting Marco, "here is a poor lad, our fellow-countryman, who has come alone from Genoa to Buenos Ayres to seek his mother. At Buenos Ayres they told him, 'She is not here; she is in Cordova.' He came in a bark to Rosario, three days and three nights on the way, with a couple of lines of recommendation. He presents the card; they make an ugly face at him: he hasn't a centesimo to bless himself with. He is here alone and in despair. He is a lad full of heart. Let us see a bit. Can't we find enough to pay for his ticket to go to Cordova in search of his mother? Are we to leave him here like a dog?" "Never in the world, by Heavens! That shall never be said!" they all shouted at once, hammering on the table with their fists. "A fellow-countryman of ours! Come hither, little fellow! We are emigrants! See what a handsome young rogue! Out with your coppers, comrades! Bravo! Come alone! He has daring! Drink a sup, patriotta! We'll send you to your mother; never fear!"

And one pinched his cheek, another slapped him on the shoulder, a third relieved him of his bag; other emigrants rose from the neighboring tables, and gathered about; the boy's story made the round of the inn; three Argentine guests hurried in from the adjoining room; and in less than ten minutes the Lombard peasant, who was passing round the hat, had collected forty-two lire. "Do you see," he then said, turning to the boy, "how fast things are done in America?" "Drink!" cried another to him, offering him a glass of wine; "to the health of your mother!" All raised their glasses, and Marco repeated, "To the health of my--" But a sob of joy choked him, and, setting the glass on the table, he flung himself on the old man's neck.