But the boy by that time was out of the door, across the courtyard, and out of the house. The poor child ran until he had no breath left. At last he stopped before the church of Santa Croce, whose great door had opened to him last night, and he went inside. Everything there was bright. He knelt by the first tomb, the sepulcher of Michelangelo, and began to cry loudly. People passed to and fro; Mass was celebrated; yet, nobody paid attention to the boy except one elderly citizen, who paused and looked at him for a moment, then passed on like the rest. The poor child became faint and ill, overcome with hunger and thirst. At last he crept into a corner behind the marble monument and fell asleep.
Toward evening he was awakened by someone shaking him, and when he started up he saw the same elderly citizen standing before him. "Are you ill? Where is your home? Have you been here all day?" were some of the questions the old man asked him.
He answered them, and the old man took him with him to a little house in a near-by side street. It was a glovemaker's shop they entered, and there they found a woman sitting busily sewing. A little white poodle, so closely clipped that one could see her pink skin, jumped on the table and bounced toward the little boy.
"The innocent souls soon make friends with each other!" said the woman, patting both the boy and dog.
These good people gave the boy something to eat and drink, and told him he could spend the night there. Next morning Father Giuseppe would go to speak to his mother. He had only a homely little bed that night, but it was a royal couch to the boy who had so often slept on hard stone floors, and he slept soundly and dreamed about the splendid pictures and the metal pig.
The next morning Father Giuseppe went out, and the poor boy was sorry to see him go, for he knew that he had gone to his mother, and that the boy himself might have to return home. He wept, and kissed the lively little dog, while the woman nodded at them both.
And what message did Father Giuseppe bring back? He talked to his wife for a long time, and she nodded and caressed the boy.
"He's a beautiful child," she said, "and he'll be a clever glovemaker, just like you. Look at his fingers, so delicate and flexible! Madonna intended him to be a glovemaker!"
And so the little boy stayed in that house, and the woman taught him to sew; he had plenty to eat and got plenty of sleep. He became quite gay, and one day he began to tease Bellissima, as the little dog was called. This angered the woman; she scolded him and shook her finger at him, and the boy took it to heart. He sat thoughtful in his little room, which faced the street, with thick iron bars outside its windows, for the skins were hung up there to dry. That night he couldn't sleep, for his head was full of the metal pig. Suddenly he heard a "scramble, scramble!" outside; yes, that must be the metal pig. He rushed to the window, but there was nothing to see.
"Help the signor carry his color box," said the mistress next morning when their young neighbor, the painter, came down carrying his color box and a huge roll of canvas. The child at once took up the box and followed the artist.
They made their way to the picture gallery, and climbed the stairs that he could remember so well from the night he rode the metal pig. He remembered all the statues, the beautiful marble Venus, and the painted pictures too. Again he gazed at the Madonna, with St. John and the infant Jesus. They stopped before the Bronzino picture of Christ standing in the underworld with the children around Him, smiling in their sweet certainty of heaven. The poor boy smiled too, for he was in his own heaven.
"Now you may go home," the painter said to him when the child still remained after his easel was set up.
"Can't I stay to watch the signor paint?" said the boy. "Can't I see you put the picture on the white canvas?"
"I'm not painting just yet," answered the artist as he took out a piece of charcoal. His hand moved swiftly as his eye rapidly measured the great picture; though he made only a few light strokes, the figure of Christ stood there, just as in the colored painting.
"You must go now," said the painter.
Then the boy wandered quietly home, sat down on the table, and resumed learning to sew gloves. But all day his thoughts were in the gallery, so he was awkward and pricked his fingers; but he didn't tease Bellissima. When evening came he found the house door open, and crept out; it was cold, but bright starlight, beautiful and clear. He wandered through the streets, where everything was quiet, until he found himself at the metal pig; then he bent over it, kissed its shining snout, and seated himself on its back.
"You blessed creature!" he said. "How I've longed for you! We must have another ride tonight!"