er them as part of the work you
are regularly paid to do, does it not?"

"I suppose so," Zorzi said, turning over the question in his mind.

Giovanni took a small piece of gold from the purse he carried at his
belt, and he laid it on the flat arm of the chair beside him, and put
down one of his crooked forefingers upon it.

"I cannot see what objection you can have, in that case. You know very
well that young painters who work for masters help them, but are always
allowed to sell anything they can paint in their leisure time."

"Yes. That is true. I will take the money, sir, and you may choose any
of the pieces you like. When the master comes, I will tell him, and if I
have no right to the price he shall keep it himself."

"Do you really suppose that my father would be mean enough to take the
money?" asked Giovanni, who would certainly have taken it himself under
the circumstances.

"No. He is very generous. Nevertheless, I shall certainly tell him the
whole story."

"That is your affair. I have nothing to say about it. Here is the money,
for which I will take the beaker I saw you finishing when I came in. Is
it enough? Is it a fair price?"

"It is a very good price," Zorzi answered. "But there may be a piece
among those in the oven which you will like better. Will you not come
to-morrow, when they are all annealed, and make your choice?"

"No. I have fallen in love with the piece I saw you making."

"Very well. You shall have it, and many thanks."

"Here is the money, and thanks to you," said Giovanni, holding out the
little piece of gold.

"You shall pay me when you take the beaker," objected Zorzi. "It may
fly, or turn out badly."

"No, no!" answered Giovanni, rising, and putting the money into Zorzi's
hand. "If anything happens to it, I will take another. I am afraid that
you may change your mind, you see, and I am very anxious to have such a
beautiful thing."

He laughed cheerfully, nodded to Zorzi and went out at once, almost
before the latter had time to rise from his seat and get his crutch
under his arm.

When he was alone, Zorzi looked at the coin and laid it on the table. He
was much puzzled by Giovanni's conduct, but at the same time his
artist's vanity was flattered by what had happened. Giovanni's
admiration of the glass was genuine; there could be no doubt of that,
and he was a good judge. As for the work, Zorzi knew quite well that
there was not a glass-blower in Murano who could appro