the old man's hands. `Dost thou not know me?
I am thy little Francesco, come to claim thy
promise that I should one day be thy servant and
pupil.

Leonardo laid his hand upon the boy's fair head
and looked into his face.

`I am growing old,' he said, `and I can no longer
do for thee what I might once have done. I am
but a poor wanderer now. Dost thou indeed wish
to cast in thy lot with mine?'

`I care only to be near thee,' said the boy. `I
will go with thee to the ends of the earth.'

So when, soon after, Leonardo received an
invitation from the new King of France, he took the
boy with him, and together they made their home
in the little chateau of Claux near the town of
Amboise.

The master's hair was silvered now, and his long
beard was as white as snow. His keen blue eyes
looked weary and tired of life, and care had drawn
many deep lines on his beautiful face. Sad thoughts
were always his company. The one word `failure'
seemed to be written across his life. What had
he done? He had begun many things and had
finished but few. His great fresco was even now