ressed in antique
German style, as the Porter called it, with a white collar and bare
throat, about which hung dark brown curls, which he was often obliged
to toss aside from his pretty face. When he had breakfasted, he picked
up my fiddle, which I had laid on the grass beside me, seated himself
upon the fallen trunk of a tree, and strummed the strings. Then he
sang in a voice clear as a wood-robin's, so that it went to my very
heart heart--

"When the earliest morning ray
Through the valley finds its way,
Hill and forest fair awaking,
All who can their flight are taking.

"And the lad who's free from care
Shouts, with cap flung high in air,
'Song its flight can aye be winging;
Let me, then, be ever singing.'"

As he sang, the ruddy rays of morning exquisitely illumined his pale
face and dark, love-lit eyes. But I was so tired that the words and
notes of his song mingled and blended strangely in my ears, until at
last I fell sound asleep.

When, by and by, I began gradually to awaken, I heard, as in a dream,
the two painters talking together beside me, and the birds singing
overhead, while the morning sun shining through my closed eyelids
produced the sensation of looking toward the light through red
curtains. "_Com' e bello_!" I heard some one exclaim close to me. I
opened my eyes, and saw the younger painter bending over me in the
clear morning light, so near that I seemed to see only his large black
eyes between his drooping curls.

I sprang up hastily, for it was broad day. Herr Lionardo seemed
cross--he had two angry furrows on his brow--and hastily made ready to
move on. But the other painter shook his curls away from his face and
quietly hummed an air to himself as he was bridling his steed, until
at last Lionardo burst into a sudden fit of laughter, picked up a
bottle standing on the grass, and poured the contents into a couple
of glasses. "To our happy arrival!" he exclaimed, as the two clinked
their glasses melodiously. Whereupon Lionardo tossed the empty bottle
high in the air, and it sparkled brilliantly.

At last they mounted their horses, and I marched on beside them. Just
at our feet lay a valley in measureless extent, into which our road
descended. How clear and fresh and bright and jubilant were all the
sights and sounds around! I was so cool, so happy, that I felt as if I
could have flown from the mountain out into the glorious landscape.

CHAPTER IV

Farewell, mil