utside going pitapat. He sprang out of bed and
went to the window. Could it be the Metal Pig? But there was nothing to
be seen. Whatever he had heard had passed already.

"Go help the gentleman to carry his box of colors," said the woman the
next morning when their neighbor, the artist, passed by, carrying a
paint box and a large roll of canvas. The boy instantly took the box and
followed the painter. They walked on till they reached the picture
gallery, and mounted the same staircase up which he had ridden that
night on the Metal Pig. He remembered all the pictures and statues,
especially the marble Venus, and again he looked at the Madonna with the
Saviour and St. John. They stopped before the picture by Il Bronzino, in
which Christ is represented as standing in the lower world, with the
children smiling before him in the sweet expectation of entering heaven.
The poor boy smiled, too, for here was his heaven.

"You may go home now," said the painter, while the boy stood watching
him till he had set up his easel.

"May I see you paint?" asked the boy. "May I see you put the picture on
this white canvas?"

"I am not going to paint," replied the artist, bringing out a piece of
chalk. His hand moved quickly, and his eye measured the great picture,
and though nothing appeared but a faint line, the figure of the Saviour
was as clearly visible as in the colored picture.

"Why don't you go?" said the painter. Then the boy wandered home
silently, and seated himself on the table, and learned to sew gloves.
But all day long his thoughts were in the picture gallery, and so he
pricked his fingers and was awkward. But he did not tease Bellissima.
When evening came, and the house door stood open, he slipped out. It was
a bright, beautiful, starlight evening, but rather cold. Away he went
through the already deserted streets, and soon came to the Metal Pig. He
stooped down and kissed its shining nose, and then seated himself on its
back.

"You happy creature," he said; "how I have longed for you! We must take
a ride to-night."

But the Metal Pig lay motionless, while the fresh stream gushed forth
from its mouth. The little boy still sat astride its back, when he felt
something pulling at his clothes. He looked down, and there was
Bellissima, little smooth-shaven Bellissima, barking as if she would
have said, "Here I am, too. Why are you sitting there?"

A fiery dragon could not have frightened the little boy so much as did