THE METAL PIG. 265

be the Pig! He sprang to the window, but nothing was to be
seen—it had passed by already.

“Help the gentleman to carry his box of colours,” said the
woman next morning to the boy, when their young neighbour the
artist passed by, carrying a paint-box and a large rolled canvas.

The boy took the box and followed the painter: they betook
themselves to the gallery, and mounted the same staircase which
he remembered well from the night when he had ridden on the
Metal Pig. He recognized the statues and pictures, the beautiful
marble Venus, and the Venus that lived in the picture ; and again
he saw the Madonna, and the Saviour, and St. John.

They stood still before the picture by Bronzino, in which Christ
is descending into hell, and the children smiling around Him in
the sweet expectation of heaven. The poor child smiled too, for
he felt as if his heaven were here.

“Go home now,” said the painter, when the boy had stood
until the other had set up his easel.

“ May I see you paint?” asked the boy. “ May I see you put
the picture upon this white canvas?”

“T am not going to paint yet,” replied the man; and he brought
out a piece of white chalk. His hand moved quickly; his eye
measured the great picture, and though nothing appeared but a
thin line, the figure of the Saviour stood there, as in the coloured
picture.

“Why don’t you go?” said the painter.

And the boy wandered home silently, and seated himself on the
table and learned to sew gloves, :

But all day long his thoughts were in the picture gallery; and
so it came that he pricked his fingers, and was awkward; but he
did not tease Bellissima. When evening came, and when the
house door stood open, he crept out: it was cold but starlight, a
bright beautiful evening. Away he went through the already
deserted streets, and soon came to the Metal Pig. He bent
down on it, kissed its shining mouth, and seated himself on its
back.

“You happy creature!” he said; “how I have longed for you!
We must take a ride to-night.”

The Metal Pig lay motionless, and the fresh stream gushed
forth from itsmouth. The little boy sat astride on its back; then
something tugged at his clothes. He looked down, and there was
Bellissima—little smooth-shaven Bellissima—barking as if she
would have said, “ Here am I too: why are you sitting there ?”
A fiery dragon could not have terrified the boy so much as did the
little dog in this place. Bellissima in the street, and not dressed,
as the old lady called it! What would be the end of it? The dog
never came out in winter, except attired in a little lamb-skin, which
had been cut out and made into a coat for him; it was made to
fasten with a red ribbon round the little dog’s neck and body,