THE STORY OF A PICTURE.

 It was left here this morning by the artist," said
 Signor Vieri, that I might sell it for him to one of
 my friends. The painting is faultless, and the idea
 itself is exquisite. You see, Leonardo, this child that
 we all consider so very like your sister, is comparing
 a white blossom with a golden cross-she evidently
 prefers the blossom. It is a strange coincidence that
 the cross Maria wears is exactly the same as that in
 the picture."
 "What is the artist's name?" asked Maria quickly.
 "Casaletto-Pietro di Casaletto, I believe."
 "Oh it is he-it is Pietro !" she exclaimed, and,
casting a last look at the splendid painting, she covered
her face with her hands, and burst into tears.
 Francesca and her father remained silent in asto-
nishment.
 My dear Maria," said Leonardo, that is quite
impossible; might not there be two of the same
name ?"
 But Pietro was an artist."
 "How could he be, Maria ? You forget who he
was."
 Forget, Leo! Indeed I do not," she answered,
somewhat recovered from her emotion at seeing the
work of her old friend. "I was the only one that
knew his hidden talent. Tell me more of him, Signor
"Vieri; I knew him when we were children together."
 Leonardo told him in a few words of the friend-
ship which had existed many years before between
them and a boy named Pietro at the village of Castaro;
still he could not bring himself to believe that the
peasant boy and the artist were the same. But
Maria remembered well the incident of the last evening
she had spent with him, and no doubt was left upon
her mind.