ot far from the fair town of Florence lived a wondrously beautiful maiden named Monna Giovanna. Of lovers she had no lack, but the two whom she most favored were gallant Ser Federigo, and his rival, Ser Enrico.

Ser Federigo had inherited a great fortune and large estates from his father, and, anxious to win favor in the sight of his lady, he lavished his wealth in costly banquets and tournaments, never stopping to consider whether she would approve of his extravagance. So reckless was Ser Federigo that at last all his fortune was spent, and in order to obtain fresh supplies he sold his estates, reserving only one small farm for himself, and wasted all that money also.

Monna Giovanna by no means approved of her wooer's extravagance—she refused his gifts, and disdained his banquets. "A spendthrift will not make a prudent husband," thought she, and so she married the more careful Ser Enrico, and for some years lived very happily with him in a distant land.

Meanwhile Ser Federigo, become a sadder and wiser man, retired to his little farm on the outskirts of the city, taking with him his falcon, the only creature which remained true to him, for all his former friends shunned him in his 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 sought dwelt in the little cottage-farm a short distance from his own home.

The child came several times to see the falcon. Suddenly his visits ceased, but Ser Federigo had no inkling of the reason. The widow's only child had fallen ill, and was pining away from some unknown malady. His mother would not be comforted; she saw her darling already lying dead before her distracted gaze, and no physician could give her any hope for his cure. Sitting by the invalid's bedside she cried to him, "Is there anything I can do to comfort thee, my child?"

At first the child remained silent, but when she besought him again and again to tell her if there was anything on earth she could obtain for him which might cause him to forget his suffering, he replied, "Yes, there is one thing I want. I pray you give me Ser Federigo's falcon for my own!"

The astonished mother could make no reply. Even for her darling's sake she felt she could not ask such a favor from the lover she had once treated with scorn. Besides, though she knew that any request of hers would be at once granted by him, she knew also that the falcon was renowned as the finest bird throughout the countryside, as well as being the joy and pride of his master's heart. But the boy was fretful and restless, and, fearing to thwart his whim lest his life should depend on it, the poor mother promised to go and ask for the falcon on the very next day.

"Will you promise faithfully to go, mother?" asked the boy.

"I will, indeed," replied the distracted lady, and, soothed by her words, the child fell into a refreshing sleep.

The morrow was a bright September day, and Monna Giovanna felt hope revive within her heart as she gazed on her child still peacefully sleeping. The birds were singing sweetly and the dew lay heavy on the grass as two lovely ladies, clothed in hoods and cloaks, passed through the garden-gate into the woods, where the trees had just donned their autumn dress of russet and gold. One of these ladies had her rich dark hair closely covered by her hood. Her eyes were wet with tears, but her face was only made more beautiful by its look of deep sorrow. Her companion was a young girl who walked with light steps, her hood thrown back, and her hair shining with its wealth of gold; her cheeks were tinted like the apple-blossom, and her heart full of joyous thoughts. These were Monna Giovanna and her friend, who, with thoughts intent on their errand, hastened towards the little farm.

They found Ser Federigo digging the ground like Adam of old, and when he beheld these fair ladies, his garden seemed to become a second Eden and the river, flowing by, like the stream which watered Paradise.

Beautiful as was Monna Giovanna's young companion, Ser Federigo had no eyes for anyone but his dear lady, who, at first doubtful as to how she should begin her errand, soon raised her stately head and addressed him in kindly tones.

"Ser Federigo," said she, "I and my companion come hither to see you in friendship, trusting by this means to make some amends for my unkindness to you in the past. In former days I would not so much as cross the threshold of your door; I refused your banquets and rejected your gifts. But this morning I am here, self-invited, to put your generous nature to the test, and therefore ask if we may breakfast with you beneath your vine?"

Humbly Ser Federigo made reply: "Speak not of your unkindness to me, for if there is within me any good or generous feeling it is to you I owe it, and this gracious favor you do me in seeking me here is sufficient to outweigh all my sorrows and regrets of former years."

After a little further talk had passed between them, Ser Federigo asked his guests to wait in his garden for a brief space while he went to give orders for breakfast. As he entered his cottage his thoughts dwelt regretfully on the gold and silver plate and the ruby glass which had once been his, and it vexed him sorely that his humble abode was lacking in every luxury.

Matters were even worse than the poor host had anticipated; he searched every cupboard and ransacked every shelf, but could find nothing. Then he summoned the maid and asked why it was that provisions had failed them. "The Signor forgets that he did not hunt to-day," replied the girl. "We have nothing but bread and wine in the house, and fruit from the garden."

Then suddenly the falcon shook its bells and looked knowingly at his master as much as to say, "If anything is wanted, I am here!"

"Yes, everything is wanted, my gallant bird," cried his master, and without more ado he seized hold of the poor creature and wrung its neck. Grieved as he was at being forced to sacrifice his only friend, his master had no time to mourn his untimely end. Hastily a snow-white cloth was spread on the rough table, and on it was laid a loaf of bread flanked by purple grapes and fragrant peaches; in the midst of these a flask of wine wreathed with bright autumnal flowers, and finally the falcon, stuffed with cloves and spice, was cooked and served to eke out the humble banquet.

When all was ready the lady and her companion entered the cottage, and to Ser Federigo's dazzled gaze everything seemed transformed. The little room became a stately banqueting-hall, the rustic chair on which his lady sat was transformed into a throne, and the poor falcon seemed a peacock or a bird of paradise.

When the repast was ended they rose and passed into the garden again, and then Monna Giovanna spoke in this wise to her host: "Though you are too courteous to show surprise that I come to you in this friendly manner after we have been parted so many years, I know you must wonder at my reason for doing so. You have no children, so you cannot know the anguish a mother feels when her child is lying ill, nor how eager she is to anticipate his every wish. My only child is dying, Ser Federigo, and I have come to beg of you the one thing which may save his life. It is your falcon, your only treasure, that I beseech you to give my child, though it grieves me to the heart to demand such a precious gift from your hands."

Ser Federigo listened with tears of love and pity in his eyes, then sadly answered, "Alas, dear lady, how gladly would I have granted what you ask had you but expressed this wish one short hour ago. But, thinking I could best do honor to my guests by sacrificing what was most dear to me, I slew my gallant falcon to provide you with a fitting repast."

Slowly the lady turned aside her head, grieved to think that this noble knight had slain his cherished falcon for her sake, and yet glad of this proof of his devotion. But her mind was now filled with alarm, for she must return empty-handed to her sick child; so, taking a hasty farewell of their host, the ladies sadly made their way homewards.

The mother's fears were only too well founded. Three days later Ser Federigo heard the tolling of the passing-bell from the chapel on the hill, and, as he breathed a prayer, "Alas! her child is dead," he murmured.

But happier times were in store for the bereaved lady and her faithful lover. Touched by his devotion Monna Giovanna plighted her troth with Ser Federigo, and by Christmas time the little farm was deserted, and a wedding-feast was held in the grand villa on the hill. Once more Monna Giovanna sat upon the rustic chair which had been brought from the cottage, but something had been added. On the chair-back was perched a wooden image of the gallant falcon, and round the cage Ser Federigo had caused this inscription to be carved: "All things come round to him who will but wait."