g his
cages up on the nails fastened to the outside wall.

The thought of those poor little prisoners beating their wings against
the cruel bars and breaking their hearts with longing for their wild
free life, had haunted him all day, and now he could bear it no longer.
He seized his cap and hurried off, all forgetful of his kneeling angel
and the master's praise.

He reached the little shop and called to the man within.

'How much wilt thou take for thy birds?' he cried, and pointed to the
little wooden cages that hung against the wall.

'Plague on them,' answered the man, 'they will often die before I can
make a sale by them. Thou canst have them all for one silver piece.'

In a moment Leonardo had paid the money and had turned towards the row
of little cages. One by one he opened the doors and set the prisoners
free, and those that were too frightened or timid to fly away, he
gently drew out with his hand, and sent them gaily whirling up above
his head into the blue sky.

The man looked with blank astonishment at the empty cages, and wondered
if the handsome young man was mad. But Leonardo paid no heed to him,
but stood gazing up until every one of the birds had disappeared.

'Happy things,' he said, with a sigh. 'Will you ever teach me the
secret of your wings, I wonder?'

It was with great pleasure that Ser Piero heard of his son's success at
Verocchio's studio, and he began to have hopes that the boy would make
a name for himself after all. It happened just then that he was on a
visit to his castle at Vinci, and one morning a peasant who lived on
the estate came to ask a great favour of him.

He had bought a rough wooden shield which he was very anxious should
have a design painted on it in Florence, and he begged Ser Piero to see
that it was done. The peasant was a faithful servant, and very useful
in supplying the castle with fish and game, so Ser Piero was pleased to
grant him his request.

'Leonardo shall try his hand upon it. It is time he became useful to
me,' said Ser Piero to himself. So on his return to Florence he took
the shield to his son.

It was a rough, badly-shaped shield, so Leonardo held it to the fire
and began to straighten it. For though his hands looked delicate and
beautifully formed, they were as strong as steel, and he could bend
bars of iron without an effort. Then he sent the shield to a turner to
be smoothed and rounded, and when it was ready he sat down to think
what he s