to write. The priest had a writing teacher at Rome make three
alphabets--one large, one middling, and one small; and pointed out to
him that by the help of a sharp instrument he could trace the letters on
a slate, and thus learn to write. The same evening, when the flock was
safe at the farm, the little Luigi hastened to the smith at Palestrina,
took a large nail, heated and sharpened it, and formed a sort of stylus.
The next morning he gathered an armful of pieces of slate and began. At
the end of three months he had learned to write. The curate, astonished
at his quickness and intelligence, made him a present of pens, paper,
and a penknife. This demanded new effort, but nothing compared to the
first; at the end of a week he wrote as well with this pen as with the
stylus. The curate related the incident to the Count of San-Felice,
who sent for the little shepherd, made him read and write before him,
ordered his attendant to let him eat with the domestics, and to give him
two piastres a month. With this, Luigi purchased books and pencils.
He applied his imitative powers to everything, and, like Giotto, when
young, he drew on his slate sheep, houses, and trees. Then, with his
knife, he began to carve all sorts of objects in wood; it was thus that
Pinelli, the famous sculptor, had commenced.

"A girl of six or seven--that is, a little younger than Vampa--tended
sheep on a farm near Palestrina; she was an orphan, born at Valmontone
and was named Teresa. The two children met, sat down near each other,
let their flocks mingle together, played, laughed, and conversed
together; in the evening they separated the Count of San-Felice's
flock from those of Baron Cervetri, and the children returned to their
respective farms, promising to meet the next morning. The next day they
kept their word, and thus they grew up together. Vampa was twelve, and
Teresa eleven. And yet their natural disposition revealed itself. Beside
his taste for the fine arts, which Luigi had carried as far as he
could in his solitude, he was given to alternating fits of sadness and
enthusiasm, was often angry and capricious, and always sarcastic. None
of the lads of Pampinara, Palestrina, or Valmontone had been able
to gain any influence over him or even to become his companion. His
disposition (always inclined to exact concessions rather than to make
them) kept him aloof from all friendships. Teresa alone ruled by a look,
a word, a gesture, this impetuous cha