A chorus of laughter greeted this outburst, and Tonin trembled with embarrassment and surprise.
"Then you shall," the duke declared with a smile like April sunshine. "You must have worked pretty hard, harder than most boys ever do, to be able to make this," pointing to the lion; "and if you are willing to keep on working, you may learn to do great things. You shall go to Toretto, the sculptor who did the four pieces upstairs, and he will teach you to make statues as good. Shall you like it, my boy?"
"Like it! Oh, signor, if I had a chance to learn anything so beautiful I'd work—I'd work—"
A vision of the glistening goddess and her wordless grace came before him, causing something to spring up in his throat that choked him. Twice he tried to finish his eager speech, but the words did not come. He gave a quick, eloquent gesture of entreaty, and down went his face into his hands before them all.
"A toast, a toast!" exclaimed the duke, springing to his feet with upraised glass. "We'll pledge in water, if you please, good people, for clear water and unspoiled childhood are the purest things of earth. Ladies and gentlemen, I offer you our little friend, Tonin Canova. May he work faithfully with his teacher day by day, and when he comes to manhood, may he be good and great and happy! God bless him!"
Clink, clink, went the glasses.
Tonin raised his head, and as he turned to withdraw, he whispered to the duke with a beaming smile,—
"I don't know any nice words to say, but maybe you'll tell all the people for me how a boy feels when he's too happy to laugh and too happy to cry."
Up the Alpine road to the village of mud-walled cabins rode a man one day in autumn. His air was that of an experienced traveller, his dress rich but modest, his horse a spirited charger.
At the entrance to the village, a turn in the road brought him face to face with a man in peasant attire who was walking in the opposite direction. The rider bent curiously, and gazed down at the passer-by with keenest interest; then bringing his horse sharply to a standstill, he cried,—