ught more wonderful lessons by his frescoes
than any living artist could teach.

Then came the crowning honour when Perugino received an invitation from
the Pope to go to Rome and paint the walls of the Sistine Chapel. Hence
forth it was a different kind of life for the young painter. No need to
wonder where he would get his next meal, no hard rough wooden chest on
which to rest his weary limbs when the day's work was done. Now he was
royally entertained and softly lodged, and men counted it an honour to
be in his company.

But though he loved Florence and was proud to do his painting in Rome,
his heart ever drew him back to the city on the hill whose name he bore.

Again he travelled along the winding road, and his heart beat fast as
he drew nearer and saw the familiar towers and roofs of Perugia. How
well he remembered that long-ago day when the cool touch of the grass
was so grateful to his little tired dusty feet! He stooped again to
fill his hands with the sweet violets, and thought them sweeter than
all the fame and fair show of the gay cities.

And as he passed through the ancient gateway and threaded his way up
the narrow street towards the little shop, he seemed to see once more
the kindly smile of his old master and to hear him say, 'Thou wilt soon
be the greatest man in Perugia, and we will call thee no longer Pietro
Vanucci, but Perugino.'

So it had come to pass. Here he was. No longer a little ragged, hungry
boy, but a man whom all delighted to honour. Truly this was a world of
changes!

A bigger studio was needed than the little old shop, for now he had
more pictures to paint than he well knew how to finish. Then, too, he
had many pupils, for all were eager to enter the studio of the great
master. There it was that one morning a new pupil was brought to him, a
boy of twelve, whose guardians begged that Perugino would teach and
train him.

Perugino looked with interest at the child. Seldom had he seen such a
beautiful oval face, framed by such soft brown curls--a face so pure
and lovable that even at first sight it drew out love from the hearts
of those who looked at him.

'His father was also a painter,' said the guardian, 'and Raphael, here,
has caught the trick of using his pencil and brush, so we would have
him learn of the greatest master in the land.'

After some talk, the boy was left in the studio at Perugia, and day by
day Perugino grew to love him more. It was not only that little Raph