The Kings Sons | Page 5

Red merrily. "You've only to keep holding your face up."
"Yes," said Bert; "and that will send your legs down till you'll be standing up in the mud and water."
"And all the big flies and things will come and buzz about and settle on your crown. Come along, Fred, and finish the dam."
"If we finish the dam," said Alfred seriously, "all the water will run in here and make it deeper."
"Well, then he can swim out. You can swim, can't you?"
"No, no, no," said the monk sadly. "I never learned."
"What a pity!" said Red, laughing.
"You ought to have learned to swim instead of learning so much Latin," cried Bert.
"There isn't time to learn everything, my boys," said the monk sadly. "I'm obliged to try and teach you all: the King and Queen sent for me that I might. Please help me out."
"We're not going to," cried Bald. "Come along, boys. 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. He will not sink."
"I shan't come!" said Alfred sturdily.
"What? Here, boys, let's fetch him out."
There was a rush made towards where the boy stood knee-deep, and he snatched his hand free from the monk's grasp, turned half-round, stooped a little, and as his eldest brother came wading in among the reeds he scooped up the water and saluted him with a heavy shower right in the face, drenching him so that he turned tail and hurried back, the other two laughingly backing out of reach.
"Oh, you!" shouted. Bald. "Come out, or I'll hold you right under the water till you can't breathe."
"Come along then," cried Alfred boldly, and he sent another shower of water after his brother, wetting him behind now. "You'll be just as wet as I shall first."
"You come out!"
"I shan't! You come here, if you dare!"
"Come and help me, boys," cried Bald; but the others only laughed.
"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. If that's laid down here Father Swythe can pull himself out."
"Fetch it yourself!" cried Bald angrily. "We're not your serfs."
"I'm going to stop with Father Swythe," cried Alfred.
"Good boy! good boy!" whispered the monk.
"And look here," cried Alfred angrily: "it's cruel and wicked not to help him, and if you don't go I shall tell mother, and father will have you all punished severely."
"Tell, if you dare!" cried Bald, wringing out some of the water from the front of his tunic-like gown. "Come along, boys, and we'll get the fish without him."
Bald started off back to the stream, and the others followed him, the monk watching with piteous eyes till they were out of sight, when he turned his doleful, wrinkled face to his young companion, to tell him what he already knew.
"They're gone," he said sadly.
"Yes," said Alfred, laughing; "but only to fetch the fir-pole."
"Do you think so?" sighed the monk.
"Yes; they're afraid of my telling mother and making her angry. She doesn't like us to do cruel things: she'd tell us we were like the Danes. They'll come back soon with the pole, and then if you hold one end we can pull the other and draw you out. But I say, Father Swythe, you're big and strong. Don't you think if you were to try, you could get out on to the grass? Try and struggle out before they come back."
"But if I began to sink--"
"Then I should run and shout to the shepherds to come and pull you out."
"But I shouldn't like you to leave me to sink alone, my boy."
"It would be a long, long time before you were regularly mired," said the boy. "Now, you try! Give me both hands."
Father Swythe did as he was told, and, while his young companion threw himself back and dragged, the monk kicked and struggled bravely, and with such good effect that, to the surprise of both, he glided slowly through the reeds, and in less than a minute he sat up panting on the short grass, with the water streaming from the front of his gown.
"That was very brave and nice of you, my boy," he said, as he rose to his feet, "and I