THE STORY OF A PICTURE.

 dew was beginning to fall, that she rose to go back to
 Castaro.
 "How long do you remain here, Pietro ?" she
 asked. "Is it not growing dark ?"
 Not too dark for me, Maria; and the air is beau-
 tifully cool."
 Then, Pietro, you will remain until it really is
 dark. Oh! my lines are all crooked, she added, as
 she watched him beginning to sketch the elms over
 again, in order that the second drawing might be more
 perfect than the first, and you make everything
 look so beautifully clear. You are quite an artist,
 Pietro."
 Not quite yet, Maria, but perhaps I shall be some
 day."
 ", May I come again to-morrow ?" she asked. I
 will be here a little earlier, and we can have a longer
 chat."
 Not a longer chat, Maria, but we can get on
further with those trees. But we must change our
studio, or we shall be discovered. Suppose we meet
to-morrow night amongst those trees in the far-off
plantation. Would not that do, Maria ?"
 "But the elms and our stones," pleaded the child,
with such a half-sad, half-comic expression on her
face, that Pietro laughed outright.
 "C Well, of course the trees are not moveable, and
our chairs-to say the least of it-are rather heavy;
but there are stones twice as big as these, and trees
twice as beautiful in the plantation. You will be sure
to come, Maria ?"
 Quite sure, Pietro-good night !"
 And in a few moments the little girl had disap-
peared round the copse, but still he heard her clear,
sweet voice singing merrily as she went along. It was