Smudge and the Book of Mistakes by Gloria Whelan Page A

throughout the world.”
    The abbot smiled. “And, of course, so will the abbot and monastery from whence it came. I must have your very best scribe to provide the lettering.”
    â€œThere can be no question,” Brother Bede said. “Brother Ethbert is the one. He never makes a mistake.”
    â€œThen go at once to the scriptorium and tell Cuthbert I wish to see him.”
    â€œI’m afraid you misunderstood, dear Father Abbot. Not Cuthbert, Brother Ethbert .”
    â€œWhat! You said Cuthbert. Why are you arguing with me? I won’t have disagreement. Now, off with you.”

    Brother Bede scurried back to the scriptorium. Wringing his hands he told his story to Brother Ethbert.
    Brother Ethbert hopped from one foot to the other. His face reddened. His eyes narrowed. His words came out with a lot of spit. “Impossible! A catastrophe! Didn’t you tell Father Abbot that I am the greatest scribe in Ireland, if not the world? Didn’t you tell the abbot he made a mistake?”
    â€œTell the abbot he was mistaken?”
    â€œNo, I suppose you could not do that, but the thought of Smudge is ridiculous. We must go to Brother Gregory and explain what has happened. When he hears about Smudge he’ll hurry to the abbot himself. The abbot thinks so well of Brother Gregory’s work he is sure to listen to him.”

    Brother Gregory sat alone in his cell. On his worktable were pots of paint. There were brushes, some so fine they had only a hair or two. There was a mortar and pestle to grind the colors. Lying on the table were sheets of parchment. Brother Gregory had all he needed to begin what would surely be the greatest achievement of his career: illustrating the Christmas Story. He loved St. Luke’s words and knew them all by heart.
    But he asked of himself, “How can I create this great work if Brother Ethbert is to be the scribe?” He was sure Brother Ethbert would be chosen, for everyone in the monastery said he was the best scribe. All his letters marched in neat rows. But Brother Ethbert’s letters had no heart to them, no imagination. Brother Ethbert did not love his letters.
    What was worse, Brother Ethbert was bossy and would tell him what to do. He would quarrel with everything Brother Gregory attempted so that Brother Gregory would lose heart. If he lost heart his work would still get done, but it would not be a great work.
    Just then Brother Ethbert and Brother Bede crowded into Brother Gregory’s cell, both of them talking at once. They related their story and Brother Ethbert urged, “You must go at once to see the abbot and tell him a dreadful mistake has been made.”

    When Brother Gregory learned he might not have to work with Brother Ethbert, he gave silent thanks to the Blessed Virgin.
    He told the two monks, “Surely you can see I could never tell the abbot he has made a mistake. It’s unthinkable. You know how stubborn he is.”
    â€œBut you don’t understand,” Brother Bede said. “He has confused Brother Ethbert with Smudge.”
    â€œSmudge?”
    â€œWell, that’s what we call Cuthbert because he is forever ruining perfectly good parchment with his blots.”
    Blots! Brother Gregory winced. He looked at the pure white parchment that lay on the table. He was about to hurry to the abbot when Brother Ethbert said in the bossy voice Brother Gregory hated, “I am anxious to tell you all my ideas for your illustrations.”
    Brother Gregory took a deep breath. “I’m ver y sorry but I couldn’t possibly contradict the abbot. I’ll just have to make the best of the abbot’s mistake. And after the abbot has seen Smudge, send him to me.”

    The abbot gazed upon the bundle of wool Smudge made as he bowed. “Get up off the floor, Cuthbert. One can carry submission too far.” Though in his heart of hearts the abbot did not see how. “I understand you are the