ere he slept, and bade
him wait there till he brought him some fragments that he was freely
permitted to take. The repast was a merry one, for Thomas was in high
spirits, and little Peter had a famous appetite.

"Ah," cried Thomas, "here you are fed and lodged. Now the question is,
how are you going to study?"

"I shall study like all artists--with pencil and paper."

"But then, Peter, have you money to buy the paper and pencils?"

"No, I have nothing; but I said to myself, 'Thomas, who is scullion at
his lordship's, must have plenty of money!' As you are rich, it is just
the same as if I was."

Thomas scratched his head and replied, that as to broken victuals, he
had plenty of them; but that he would have to wait three years before he
should receive wages. Peter did not mind. The garret walls were white.
Thomas could give him charcoal, and so he set to draw on the walls with
that; and after a little while somebody gave Thomas a silver coin.

With joy he brought it to his friend. Pencils and paper were bought.
Early in the morning Peter went out studying the pictures in the
galleries, the statues in the streets, the landscapes in the
neighborhood; and in the evening, tired and hungry, but enchanted with
what he had seen, he crept back into the garret, where he was always
sure to find his dinner hidden under the mattress, _to keep it warm,_ as
Thomas said. Very soon the first charcoal drawings were rubbed off, and
Peter drew his best designs to ornament his friend's room.

One day Cardinal Sachetti, who was restoring his palace, came with the
architect to the very top of the house, and happened to enter the
scullion's garret. The room was empty; but both Cardinal and architect
were struck with the genius of the drawings. They thought they were
executed by Thomas, and his Eminence sent for him. When poor Thomas
heard that the Cardinal had been in the garret, and had seen what he
called Peter's daubs, he thought all was lost.

"You will no longer be a scullion," said the Cardinal to him; and
Thomas, thinking this meant banishment and disgrace, fell on his knees,
and cried, "Oh! my lord, what will become of poor Peter?"

The Cardinal made him tell his story.

"Bring him to me when he comes in to-night," said he, smiling.

But Peter did not return that night, nor the next, till at length a
fortnight had passed without a sign of him. At last came the news that
the monks of a distant convent had received and kept w