This was really too much, and Filippo 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.