poverty.

One hot summer's morning, weary from working in his plot of garden, Ser
Federigo sat on a wooden bench beneath the shelter of his cottage eaves
thinking dreamily of the past and of the happiness which might have been
his, while the falcon by his side was dreaming also. Suddenly he started
up on his perch, shook his bells, and looked eagerly at his master as if
to say, "Ser Federigo, shall we not go a-hunting?" But his master's
thoughts were far away, and he did not stir. Presently he looked up in
amazement. Peeping through the trellis he saw a lovely child, a boy with
golden tresses and large wondering eyes. Without a glance at the man,
the child walked straight up to the bird and said coaxingly, "Beautiful
falcon, I wish I might hold you on my wrist, or see you fly."

Ser Federigo started, for the child's voice seemed strangely familiar to
him, and, laying his hand gently on the shining head, he asked, "Who is
your mother, my fair boy?"

"Monna Giovanna," replied the child. "Will you let me stay a little
while and play with your falcon?"

"Indeed I will, my child, but first tell me, where do you live?"

"Just beyond your garden wall," was the reply. "In the great house
hidden behind those tall poplar trees."

So the boy chattered on, and Ser Federigo took him on his knee and told
him stories of the noble falcon, and soon all three became close
friends.

As the days went on Ser Federigo set himself to find out why it was that
his lady had returned to her native land, and he discovered that Monna
Giovanna had been left a widow after a few years of marriage, and that
she had come with a friend and her only child to pass the summer quietly
in her grand villa overlooking the Arno. Rarely, or never, did the widow
lady go beyond the grounds of her villa. Clad in sable robes she paced
her stately halls, or read and worked with her friend, her one delight
to see her boy growing in health and strength and watch over this
treasure still left to her.

The boy loved his free country life and spent the days racing up and
down the terraces, chasing the screaming peacocks or climbing the garden
trellises to pluck the ripe fruit. But his chief pastime was to watch
the flight of a swift falcon which sometimes soared into sight above the
tall poplars, and at others swooped down to earth at his master's call.
The child had often wondered who the bird's master might be, and one
morning he found out that the pair he soug