THE STORY OP A PICTURE.

 before were inclined to be his friends, no longer dis-
 played the least friendship for him. But, in his quiet
 and retiring disposition, he still worked on, discou-
 raged, but not murmuring. After the days spent in
 silent labour, the evenings seemed to him nothing less
 than delightful, when, going abroad into the meadows,
 he cheerfully pursued his study, dreaming all the while
 of days that he believed were yet to come when he
 would picture objects, each on the canvas in its own
 light, and shade, and colour, instead of tracing a mere
 outline on a stone.
 On the evening after the discovery, he took his
place, sheltered by the copse, and, anticipating more
than usual pleasure, waited anxiously for his little pupil.
He had been there only a few minutes, when he heard
a light step on the fallen leaves, and in another moment
Maria was at his side.
 "Well, Pietro, you did not forget that I was
coming ?" But, without waiting for an answer, she went
on, I think I was nearly an hour trying to slip away
from Leo; he's fishing at the stream. I ran all the
way. You have not been long waiting, have you,
Pietro ?"
 Oh, no," he answered, "c but you are quite breath.
less, Maria." And he thought the large dark eyes and
happy face looked more beautiful than ever, when, after
he had rolled a stone close to his, she sat down beside
him, and, taking.off her large straw hat, fanned her
flushed cheeks with its broad leaf.
 It must be said that, much as she enjoyed that first
lesson, she interrupted it very often by her own merry
chattering, until she had told Pietro all the news of the
village, and even this was much extended by remarks
prompted by her liveliness.
 It was only after the sun had set, and when the