same manner, as a child doth his
lesson in a copy book.'

Then he turned and went out of the studio before any one had time to
answer him.

Perugino was furiously angry and would not listen to reason, but must
needs go before the great Council and demand that they should punish
Michelangelo for his hard words. This of course the Council refused to
do, and Perugino left Florence for Perugia, angry and sore at heart.

It seemed hard, after all his struggles and great successes, that as he
grew old people should begin to tire of his work, which they had once
thought so perfect.

But if the outside world was sometimes disappointing, he had always his
home to turn to, and his beautiful wife Chiare. He had married her in
his beloved Perugia, and she meant all the joy of life to him. He was
so proud of her beauty that he would buy her the richest dresses and
most costly jewels, and with his own hands would deck her with them.
Her brown eyes were like the depths of some quiet pool, her fair face
and the wonderful soul that shone there were to him the most perfect
picture in the world.

'I will paint thee once, that the world may be the richer,' said
Perugino, 'but only once, for thy beauty is too rare for common use.
And I will paint thee not as an earthly beauty, but thou shalt be the
angel in the story of Tobias which thou knowest.'

So he painted her as he said. And in our own National Gallery we still
have the picture, and we may see her there as the beautiful angel who
leads the little boy Tobias by the hand.

Up to the very last years of his life, Perugino painted as diligently
as he had ever done, but the peaceful days of Perugia had long since
given place to war and tumult, both within and without the city. Then
too a terrible plague swept over the countryside, and people died by
thousands.

To the hospital of Fartignano, close to Perugia, they carried Perugino
when the deadly plague seized him, and there he died. There was no time
to think of grand funerals; the people were buried as quickly as
possible, in whatever place lay closest at hand.

So it came to pass that Perugino was laid to rest in an open field
under an oak-tree close by. Later on his sons wished to have him buried
in holy ground, and some say that this was done, but nothing is known
for certain. Perhaps if he could have chosen, he would have been glad
to think that his body should rest under the shelter of the trees he
loved to paint, in tha