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Updated: June 7, 2025
"Bad boys; bad, thoughtless, wicked boys!" grunted Father Swythe; but he lay perfectly still with arms and legs spread apart as far as they would go. "Why don't you stand up and walk out?" cried Fred, at last, taking compassion on his tutor's awkward plight. "Because I'm so heavy, boy: I should sink." "Oh, no. It isn't deep there. I've often waded about there to look for moorhens' nests."
The three elder boys were laughing and joking about the matter, and suddenly Ethelbald cried out: "Come along, boys! Bows and arrows. I saw a roebuck feeding outside the oak wood. Here, we'll take spears with us too to-day. Let old Swythe teach the swineherds' boys to read Latin instead of minding the little pigs hunting for acorns." "No spears left!" said Bert.
The monk raised one hand very cautiously, and Alfred seized it tightly and began to back, pulling with all his might; but he pulled in vain, for he did not move his tutor an inch. "Here, I know," cried Alfred. "You two come and join hands and pull." "I'm afraid I'm too heavy," said Father Swythe. "I shan't help," said Bald maliciously. "Let him stop where he is."
He ought to have learned to swim." Bald began to move away, and the monk groaned again. "Come along, Fred," cried Bert, and the monk turned his head sidewise so as to look piteously at the youngest boy. "No, I'm not coming. I'm going to stop and help Father Swythe." "Hah!" sighed the monk, and he squeezed Alfred's hand. "No, you're not," cried Bald fiercely; "you're coming with us. Come along.
The last words came with a bright and cheerful ring, as Swythe released the boy and sat back smiling at him and looking proudly into his eyes. "And so you want to learn to read and write and grow into a wise man who may some day rule over this land?" "Oh, I want to learn!" cried the boy, dashing away his last tears. "I want to be wise and great; but oh, no: I don't want to rule and be King.
"Why do you say we" said the boy. "It is you." "It's we, because you are helping me," said the monk. "Very soon you will be doing letters like this, and then I shall help you." Alfred sighed. "Are you going to paint that scroll red too?" "No: purple," was the reply, and Swythe took up another little packet, which he opened slowly. "Why, that's blue," cried Alfred.
"Come yourself, if you dare! Father Swythe will help me, and we'll duck you." "Urrr!" growled Bald, stamping with rage. Then: "Never mind, boys: let them stop together. Give him a Latin lesson, Father Swythe." "You stop a moment, all three of you," cried Alfred sharply. "You're not going away to leave Father Swythe like this. Go and fetch the big fir-pole that we laid across to begin the dam.
Now," he said, "I'm going to mix this up with gum; and then we'll paint all the back of the parchment behind the big letter red." Alfred watched the monk's clever touches with the point of his little brush till there was a great square patch upon which the letter seemed to stand. "Beautiful!" cried Alfred. "Now it's done!" "Oh, no," said Swythe; "that's the beginning! Now we'll paint the scroll."
He wanted to see the gentle old monk; for he felt as if he could say to him what he could not utter to the Queen. But there was another disappointment awaiting him. Swythe was not there, and the boy stamped his foot angrily. "Oh," he said, half aloud and angrily, "how unlucky I am!"
"With the club?" said the King. "No; I should strike him down with the axe, sir." "But you might kill him, Swythe." "And if I did, sir," said the little monk fiercely, "it would be a good thing too; for these Norsemen are wicked pagans, come to kill and slay." "You see, we must have fighting-men, Swythe," said the King; and then he turned to the Queen, who was listening to what they said.
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