The boy, stunned and dazzled at the prospect of so much happiness, could answer nothing. The artist handed him a card and bid him go.
"You can think it over," he said. "Let me know; there is my address. No thanks—be off. Remember Rome, Italy, and art. I leave to-morrow."
To Rome! to Rome! The lad went along the river bank and sank upon a rock; hiding his face in his hands, he let loose his dreams. What a prospect! What joy! He felt two soft hands upon his shoulders, and, reaching up, he caught them.
"O Mollie! Mollie! Mollie!" he sang, drawing her down beside him, "did you see a golden bird flying towards me as you came?"
"Foolish boy!" the girl smiled. "What was the bird's name?"
"Good luck! Good fortune!" he answered, laughing loud; "and it flew my way."
"What is it, dear?" The girl bent to him. "Tell me the story."
And so he told her. She saddened at the thought of a parting, glad for his delight, listened and followed him through his world of dreams—always a watcher, willing to live in
