remembered that long-ago day when the cool touch
of the grass was so grateful to his little tired dusty
feet! He stooped again to fill his hands with the
sweet violets, and thought them sweeter than all the
fame and fair show of the gay cities.

And as he passed through the ancient gateway
and threaded his way up the narrow street towards
the little shop, he seemed to see once more the
kindly smile of his old master and to hear him say,
`Thou wilt soon be the greatest man in Perugia,
and we will call thee no longer Pietro Vanucci, but
Perugino.'

So it had come to pass. Here he was. No longer
a little ragged, hungry boy, but a man whom all
delighted to honour. Truly this was a world of
changes!

A bigger studio was needed than the little old shop,
for now he had more pictures to paint than he well
knew how to finish. Then, too, he had many pupils,
for all were eager to enter the studio of the great
master. There it was that one morning a new
pupil was brought to him, a boy of twelve, whose
guardians begged that Perugino would teach and
train him.

Perugino looked with interest at the child. Seldom
had he seen such a beautiful oval face, framed by