tened by a rich jewel. The curé seemed more delighted than Angelo had ever seen him; and Madame Molé set to work to prepare the best dinner she knew how to cook: there was plenty for Angelo to do that day.

In the evening the curé sent for Angelo into the parlour. Angelo was sitting in the chimney-corner, beside Madame Molé, silently carving a bunch of lilies, but wondering within his mind about the majestic-looking stranger: and his heart beat when he entered the parlour. The curé and the stranger were seated at a table. A small-framed picture lay between them.

"This is the child of whom I spoke to you," said the curé.

The stranger fixed his large, calm eyes upon Angelo, and said, in a soft melodious voice, "My friend here tells me that you are skilful to do carved work in wood. Will you let me see some samples of your cunning?"

"Do so, Angelo," said the curé.

Angelo obeyed.

The stranger looked at the different objects in

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silence. At length he lifted the green silk curtain from the picture upon the table, and held it up before Angelo. The child's eyes sparkled, his cheeks flushed as he gazed upon it. My angels! my angels! Yes, that is as I have tried to think of them; but they never appeared to me clear and beautiful, like those." Underneath the picture was written, "Come ye blessed, and inherit the kingdom prepared for you." The angels were meeting and rejoicing over those who had been found faithful. It was marvellously beautiful. The whole picture seemed to be painted with light and gold, like the bright clouds at sunset.

"He will do," said the stranger, who had watched him.

Angelo was engrossed in gazing upon the picture, and did not hear.

"You like that?" said he, laying his hand upon the boy's shoulder.

Angelo turned his look upon the stranger, but did not reply.

"Well, I did it. I am a painter; I live in a city far from hence, called Rome. If you will

come with me, I will teach you all I know; you, too, shall be a painter.'

Angelo looked bewildered, from the stranger to the curé.

"Well, Angelo, what do you say.

Will you go

"And leave you and Madame Molé-how can I? Will you come, too?"

"No, my child; our lot lies here. But for you it is different, you can never learn to be a painter here."

"I will stay with you," said Angelo.

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Gently, my child. God has given you a talent which you must learn to use. You remember the parable of the servant who hid his lord's money? But is there any work you would like to learn better?"

"No," replied Angelo, firmly. "I would desire to paint above all things; but I cannot leave you. How would Madame Molé do without me?"

"We shall be very-very grieved to lose you. But there is no doubt that we ought to let you go.'

"You will come back to see them again, as I have done," said the stranger, smiling.

"Perhaps, sometime, I may paint a picture good enough to be placed in the chapel," said Angelo. "To be able to do that, I would go to the end of the world."

"Well, then, it is settled; you will come along with me to-morrow. I make myself responsible to the curé for my care of you. I take charge of your future mode of life."

"And to you I dare trust him," said the curé; "I know you of old."

When Madame Molé heard the news, that Angelo was to depart with the stranger, to live in Rome, a place she had never heard of, she began to weep bitterly, and even reproached the curé with cruelty, for sending away the orphan who had been so wonderfully guided to him. Both the curé and the stranger strove to re-assure and console her; but she wept bitterly, and nothing but the necessity of packing up Angelo's clothes, could have dried her eyes.

As to Angelo, sorry as he was to leave his bene

factors, the idea that he was going to Rome, to become a painter, had begun to take possession of his mind. The stranger, too, attracted him; and he felt that he would be glad to call him master. Nevertheless, when the parting really came, he fancied himself very ungrateful, and he besought the curé, with tears, to let him remain.

You

"No, my child; it is right you should go. are shewing your obedience to me in going. I will follow you with my prayers, and God will be near you there, as here. You will not forget to pray to Him, as you have ever done?"

"Pray to Him that I may not," said Angelo, sobbing. "I don't know what I shall do, when I have not you any longer to teach me what is right."

The curé tried to smile and speak cheerfully, but he was dreadfully sorry to part with the child; while Madame Molé wept without stint or restraint.

The painter cut short the scene of parting. He grasped the curé's hand, and said, "For your sake, he shall be to me as a younger brother, and you shall hear how he prospers-farewell." He