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Knights of the Art; stories of the Italian painters by Amy Steedman
page 122 of 216 (56%)
too, when he laughed, but underneath was always
that strange cold look. There was a charm about
his smile which no one could resist, and he was a
favourite with all. Yet people shook their heads
sometimes as they looked at him, and they talked in
whispers of the old witch who had lent her goat to
nourish the little Leonardo when he was a baby.
The woman was a dealer in black magic, and who
knew but that the child might be a changeling?

It was the old grandmother, Mona Lena, who
brought Leonardo up and spoilt him not a little.
His father, Ser Piero, was a lawyer, and spent most
of his time in Florence, but when he returned to the
old castle of Vinci, he began to give Leonardo
lessons and tried to find out what the boy was fit for.
But Leonardo hated those lessons and would not
learn, so when he was seven years old he was sent to
school.

This did not answer any better. The rough play
of the boys was not to his liking. When he saw
them drag the wings off butterflies, or torture any
animal that fell into their hands, his face grew white
with pain, and he would take no share in their
games. The Latin grammar, too, was a terrible task,
while the many things he longed to know no one
taught him.

So it happened that many a time, instead of going
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