THE STORY OF A PICTURE.
 "I am glad it is yours, Maria, and that you like it
so much," answered the boy, as he gave it back to her,
and she tied it to a slender string round her neck.
 Then they walked out from behind the copse into
the sunlight, and soon were crossing the broad meadow.
 And do you not like it, Pietro ?" she asked,
somewhat disappointed that he did not praise her
treasure more.
 "C It is a rich ornament, indeed, Maria; but, in my
eyes, the rose that you wore in your hair last night
looked twice, ten times, as beautiful. Now, don't be
angry with me," he added, smiling; "you know that
I see little of gold or trinkets. Let us compare your
beautiful cross with one of these ;" and he took a large
wild flower from amongst the grass. "Now look at
both, Maria, and judge fairly. See those white petals,
softer than the velvet that the Signora di Castaro wears
on feast-days; and the bright yellow centre, it shines
like this gold."
 The child looked alternately at the cross and the
flower; she smiled, but she was silent. Although she
had often gathered wild flowers in the fields, whilst
never before had she even held in her hand anything
so costly as the new gift, she felt that her companion
was right, that there was something in that simple
blossom which she could find in no treasure that hands
could make; that Nature's most careless work, formed,
as it were, in play, surpasses, immeasurably surpasses,
the greatest work of man..
 In one moment, and without the breathing of a
word, all this passed through her mind, and taking
the white flower from his hand, she twined its light
stem among her long dark tresses, and walked silently
on. When they reached the plantation, and during
the whole evening, Maria, though as bright and happy