Chapter 6

"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."

"I told you I'm going to make it yellow," said Swythe, laying his work well out in the sunshine to get thoroughly dry.

Then, taking it from the window-sill and shutting out the breeze again, Swythe placed his work ready and took out, from a snug corner, a tiny book made by sewing together about half-a-dozen leaves of parchment, and upon opening this very carefully Alfred saw within a piece of brilliant shining gold.

"Oh, how beautiful!" cried Alfred, making a dart at it with his hand. But, as if he expected this, Swythe put out his own hand and caught his pupil's just in time, creating such a breeze, though, that the very thin gold leaf rose up at the corner and fell over, doubling nearly in half.

"There, you see how fine it is!" cried Swythe.

"I'm very sorry--I did not know," said the boy sadly; and then he looked on in wonder, for the monk bent down, gave a gentle puff with his breath, and the gold was blown up, to fall back into its place.

"Why, I thought it would be quite hard and heavy," said Alfred.

"And it's twenty times as thin as the parchment!" said Swythe. "Now then, suppose we make the letter of gold."

Alfred did not speak, but watched with breathless interest while the monk took his knife and carefully cut a long strip off one edge of the gold leaf, and then, dividing it in four, took it up bit by bit on the blade, and laid the pieces along the letter, cutting off edges and scraps that were not wanted, and covering up bare places so carefully and with such great pains that at last there was not a trace left of the gummed letter, a rough, rugged gold one being left in its place.

"There!" cried Swythe, when he had covered the last speck, and all was gold leaf; but Alfred shook his head.

"It looks very beautiful," he said; "but I don't like it. The edges are all rugged and rough."

"So they are!" replied Swythe, and, taking now a clean dry brush, he began to smoothe and dab and press gently till there was not a trace left of where the scraps of gold joined or lay one over the other, all becoming strong and perfect excepting the edges, where the gold lay loose, till, quite satisfied with his work, the monk passed his brush briskly over the letter, carrying off every scrap of gold outside the gummed letter, and leaving this clean, smooth, and glistening.

"Oh, Father Swythe," cried Alfred, clapping his hands, "you are clever! It's beautiful!"

"You like it, then, my boy?" said the old man gravely. "You shall soon be able to do that with your light fingers."

The boy looked down at his hands and then took up the pen the monk had laid down, dipped it in the ink, and tried to make a letter.

"Well done," said Swythe, smiling; "that is something like O. Now make another, and try if you can make it worse than the last."

The boy looked up at him sharply.

"You are laughing at me!" he said.

"Well, if I am, it is only to make you try and do better. Go on again!"

The boy hesitated before looking hard at the letter he had tried to imitate, and then tried once more.

"Ever so much better!" cried the monk. "Come to me every day, and try like that, and in a very short time you will be able to read and write."