ppo must be taken at once before the
prior.

'What, in disgrace again?' asked the kindly old man. 'What has the
child done now?'

'We can teach him nothing,' said the brother, shaking a severe finger
at Filippo, who hung his head. 'He cannot even learn his A B C. And
besides, he spoils his books, ay, and even the walls and benches, by
drawing such things as these upon them.' And the indignant monk held
out the book where all those naughty figures were dancing over the page.

The prior took the book and looked at it closely.

'What makes thee do these things?' he asked the boy, who stood first on
one foot and then on the other, twisting his rope in his fingers.

At the sound of the kind voice, the boy looked up, and his face broke
into a smile.

'Indeed, I cannot help it, Father,' he said. 'It is the fault of
these,' and he spread out his ten little brown fingers.

The prior laughed.

'Well,' he said, 'we will not turn thee out, though they do say thou
wilt never make a monk. Perhaps we may teach these ten little rascals
to do good work, even if we cannot put learning into that round head of
thine.'

So instead of books and Latin lessons, the good monks tried a different
plan. Filippo was given as a pupil to good Brother Anselmo, whose work
it was to draw the delicate pictures and letters for the convent
prayer-books.

This was a different kind of lesson, indeed. Filippo's eyes shone with
eagerness as he bent over his work and tried to copy the beautiful
lines and curves which the master set for him.

There were other boys in the class as well, and Filippo looked at their
work with great admiration. One boy especially, who was bigger than
Filippo, and who had a kind merry face, made such beautiful copies that
Filippo always tried to sit next him if possible. Very soon the boys
became great friends.

Diamante, as the elder boy was called, was pleased to be admired so
much by the little new pupil; but as time went on, his pride in his own
work grew less as he saw with amazement how quickly Filippo's little
brown fingers learned to draw straighter lines and more beautiful
curves than any he could manage. Brother Anselmo, too, would watch the
boy at work, and his saintly old face beamed with pleasure as he looked.

'He will pass us all, and leave us far behind, this child who is too
stupid to learn his A B C,' he would say, and his face shone with
unselfish joy.

Then when the boys grew older, they were al