gazing with round eyes and open mouths. They
had never seen anything like it before, and at first
there was silence except for one long drawn `ah-h.'

Then one by one they began to laugh and talk,
and point with eager, excited fingers. `Look,'
cried one, `there is Brother Giovanni; I would know
his smile among a hundred.'

`There is that beggar who comes each day to ask
for soup,' cried another.

`And there is his dog,' shouted a third.

`Look at the maid who kneels in front,' said Fra
Diamante in a hushed voice, `is she not as fair as
any saint?'

Then suddenly there was silence, and the brothers
looked ashamed of the noise they had been making,
as the prior himself looked down on them from the
steps above.

`What is all this?' he asked. And his voice
sounded grave and displeased as he looked from the
wall to the crowd of eager monks. Then he turned
to Filippo. `Are these the pictures I ordered thee
to paint?' he asked. `Is this the kind of painting to
do honour to God and to our Church? Will these
mere human figures help men to remember the