“What would you have done, then?”
“I should have painted it deep yellow like a buttercup—a good sunny yellow, to look like gold.”
“Well done!” cried the monk. “Why, that’s exactly what it is going to be. It isn’t finished, but I’m not going to paint it yellow. I’m going to paint it red first.”
“I don’t think I shall like that,” said the boy, shaking his head.
“Wait and see!” said the monk, and once more mixing up a little red with gum he carefully painted the white letter scarlet, and held it up.
“There!” cried the boy triumphantly; “it looks now almost like the back patch, and you’ve spoiled it all.”
“Umph!” grunted the monk, re-opening the window and laying his work in the sun to dry. “Wait a bit.”
“Yes, I’ll wait,” said the boy, watching the shiny wet paint turn more and more dull; “but I don’t like it.”
Swythe washed his brush carefully again, and as soon as the paint was dry went carefully over the letter part with gum, so delicately that the red colour was not disturbed nor the background smeared.
“Yes,” said the boy, still watching; “that looks a little better, because it looks shiny, but it was better white. Do paint it yellow now.”