dear heart; before three
months are past, by the time the grapes are gathered, I will return.'

But it was sad work parting, though it might only be for three months,
and even her little son could not make his mother smile, though he drew
wonderful pictures for her of birds and beasts, and told her he meant
to be a great painter like his father when he grew up.

Next day Filippo started, and with him went his good friend Fra
Diamante.

'Fare thee well, Filippo. Take good care of him, friend Diamante,'
cried Lucrezia; and she stood watching until their figures disappeared
at the end of the long white road, and then went inside to wait
patiently for their return.

The summer days passed slowly by. The cheeks of the peaches grew soft
and pink under the kiss of the sun, the figs showed ripe and purple
beneath the green leaves, and the grapes hung in great transparent
clusters of purple and gold from the vines that swung between the
poplar-trees. Then came the merry days of vintage, and the juice was
pressed out of the ripe grapes.

'Now he will come back,' said Lucrezia, 'for he said "by the time the
grapes are gathered I will return."'

The days went slowly by, and every evening she stood in the loggia and
gazed across the hills. Then she would point out the long white road to
little Filippino.

'Thy father will come along that road ere long,' she said, and joy sang
in her voice.

Then one evening as she watched as usual her heart beat quickly. Surely
that figure riding so slowly along was Fra Diamante? But where was
Filippo, and why did his friend ride so slowly?

When he came near and entered the house she looked into his face, and
all the joy faded from her eyes.

'You need not tell me,' she cried; 'I know that Filippo is dead.'

It was but too true. The faithful friend had brought the sad news
himself. No one could tell how Filippo had died. A few short hours of
pain and then all was over. Some talked of poison. But who could tell?

There had just been time to send his farewell to Lucrezia, and to pray
his friend to take charge of little Filippino.

So, as she listened, joy died out of Lucrezia's life. Spring might come
again, and summer sunshine make others glad, but for her it would be
ever cold, bleak winter. For never more should her heart grow warm in
the sunshine of Filippo's smile--that sunshine which had made every one
love him, in spite of his faults, ever since he ran about the streets,
a lit