e handles his colours as if he had
had fifty years of experience,' he would say proudly, as he showed off
the boy's work to some new patron.

And truly the knowledge of drawing and colouring seemed to come to the
boy without any effort. Not that he was idle or trusted to chance. He
was never tired of work, and his greatest joy on holidays was to go of
and study the drawings of the great Michelangelo and Leonardo da Vinci.
Often he would spend the whole day copying these drawings with the
greatest care, never tired of learning more and more.

As Andrea grew older, all Florence began to take note of the young
painter--'Andrea del Sarto,' as he was called, or 'the tailor's
Andrew,' for sarto is the Italian word for tailor.

What a splendid new star this was rising in the heaven of Art! Who
could tell how bright it would shine ere long? Perhaps the tailor's son
would yet eclipse the magic name of Raphael. His colour was perfect,
his drawing absolutely correct. They called him in their admiration
'the faultless painter.' But had he, indeed, the artist soul? That was
the question. For, perfect as his pictures were, they still lacked
something. Perhaps time would teach him to supply that want.

Meanwhile there was plenty of work for the young artist, and when he
set up his own studio with another young painter, he was at once
invited to fresco the walls of the cloister of the Scalzo, or
bare-footed friars.

This was the happiest time of all Andrea's life. The two friends worked
happily together, and spent many a merry day with their companions.
Every day Andrea learned to add more softness and delicacy to his
colouring until his pictures seemed verily to glow with life. Every day
he dreamed fresh dreams of the fame and honour that awaited him. And
when work was over, the two young painters would go off to meet their
friends and make merry over their supper as they told all the latest
jokes and wittiest stories, and forgot for a while the serious art of
painting pictures.

There were twelve of these young men who met together, and each of them
was bound to bring some particular dish for the general supper. Every
one tried to think of something especially nice and uncommon, but no
one managed such surprising delicacies as Andrea. There was one special
dish which no one ever forgot. It was in the shape of a temple, with
its pillars made of sausages. The pavement was formed of little squares
of different coloured jelly, the