the bare room, 'and I am
hungry.'

'Hungry!' and poor Mona Lapaccia cast her eyes upwards, as if she would
ask the saints if they too were not filled with surprise to hear this
word. 'And when art thou anything else? It is ever the same story with
thee: eat, eat, eat. Now, the saints help me, I have borne this burden
long enough. I will see if I cannot shift it on to other shoulders.'

She rose as she spoke, tied her yellow handkerchief over her head and
smoothed out her apron. Then she caught Filippo by his shoulder and
gave him a good shake, just to teach him how wrong it was to talk of
being hungry, and pushing him in front of her they went downstairs
together.

'Where art thou going?' gasped the boy as she dragged him swiftly along
the street.

'Wait and thou shalt see,' she answered shortly; 'and do thou mind thy
manners, else will I mind them for thee.'

Filippo ran along a little quicker on hearing this advice. He had but a
dim notion of what minding his manners might mean, but he guessed
fairly well what would happen if his aunt minded them. Ah! here they
were at the great square of the Carmine. He had often crept into the
church to get warm and to see those wonderful pictures on the walls.
Could they be going there now?

But it was towards the convent door that Mona Lapaccia bent her steps,
and, when she had rung the bell, she gave Filippo's shoulder a final
shake, and pulled his coat straight and smoothed his hair.

A fat, good-natured brother let them in, and led them through the many
passages into a room where the prior sat finishing his midday meal.

Filippo's hungry eyes were immediately fixed on a piece of bread which
lay upon the table, and the kindly prior smiled as he nodded his head
towards it.

Not another invitation did Filippo need; like a bird he darted forward
and snatched the piece of good white bread, and holding it in both
hands he began to munch to his heart's content. How long it was since
he had tasted anything like this! It was so delicious that for a few
blissful moments he forgot where he was, forgot his aunt and the great
man who was looking at him with such kind eyes.

But presently he heard his own name spoken and then he looked up and
remembered. 'And so, Filippo, thou wouldst become a monk?' the prior
was saying. 'Let me see--how old art thou?'

'Eight years old, your reverence,' said Mona Lapaccia before Filippo
could answer. Which was just as well, as his mouth was s