ce 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 to school, he would
slip away and escape up into the hills, as happy as a little wild goat.
Here was all the sweet fresh air of heaven, instead of the stuffy
schoolroom. Here were no cruel, clumsy boys, but all the wild creatures
that he loved. Here he could learn the real things his heart was hungry
to know, not merely words which meant nothing and led to nowhere.

For hours he would lie perfectly still with his heels in the air and
his chin resting in his hands, as he watched a spider weaving its web,
breathless with interest to see how the delicate threads were turned in
and out. The gaily painted butterflies, the fat buzzing bees, the
little sharp-tongued green lizards, he loved to watch them all, but
above everything he loved the birds. Oh, if only he too had wings to
dart like the swallows, and swoop and sail and dart again! What was the
secret power in their wings? Surely by watching he might learn it.
Sometimes it seemed as if his heart would burst with the longing to
learn that secret. It was always the hidden reason of things that he
desired to know. Much as he loved the flowers he must pull their petals
of, one by one, to see how each was joined, to wonder at the dusty
pollen, and touch the honey-covered stamens. Then when the sun began to
sink he would turn sadly homewards, very hungry, with torn clothes and
tired feet, but with a store of sunshine in his heart.

His grandmother shook her head when Leonardo appeared after one of his
days of wandering.

'I know thou shouldst be whipped for playing truant,' she said; 'and I
should also punish thee for tearing thy clothes.'

'Ah! but thou wilt not whip me,' answered Leonardo, smiling at her with
his curious quiet smile, for he had full confidence in her love.

'Well, I love to see thee happy, and I will not punish thee this time,'
said his grandmother; 'but if these tales reach thy father's ears, he
will not be so tender as I am towards thee.'

And, sure enough, the very next time that a complaint was made from the
school, his father happened to be at home, and then the storm burst.

'Next time I will flog thee,' said Ser Piero sternly, with rising anger
at the careless air of the boy. 'Meanwhile we will see what a little
imprisonmen