It is said that one day he was standing in one of
the narrow streets of Florence talking very earnestly
to a friend, when a pig came running down the road
in a great hurry. It did not stop to look where it
was going, but ran right between the painter's legs
and knocked him flat on his back, putting an end to
his learned talk.

Giotto scrambled to his feet with a rueful smile,
and shook his finger at the pig which was fast
disappearing in the distance.

`Ah, well!' he said, `I suppose thou hadst as
much right to the road as I had. Besides, how
many gold pieces I have earned by the help of thy
bristles, and never have I given any of thy family
even a drop of soup in payment.'

Another time he went riding with a very learned
lawyer into the country to look after his property.
For when Bondone died, he left all his fields and his
farm to his painter son. Very soon a storm came on,
and the rain poured down as if it never meant to stop.

`Let us seek shelter in this farmhouse and borrow
a cloak,' suggested Giotto.

So they went in and borrowed two old cloaks
from the farmer, and wrapped themselves up from
head to foot. Then they mounted their horses and