The King's Sons Part 5

"Well, where's the fat buck?"

"Oh," said Bald shortly, "we had a splendid run, but the dogs were so stupid that he managed to get away. But you ought to have been there: it was grand."

"Was it?" said Alfred coolly. The news did not seem to trouble him in the least. He noticed, though, that the three boys were so tired out that not one of them seemed to care for his supper, and directly after they went off to bed.

CHAPTER FIVE.

BEGINNING TO BE GREAT.

The boys had some fresh plan for the next day, and when Alfred went up to bed they were all whispering eagerly; but as soon as their brother entered the room they pretended to be asleep.

Alfred said nothing till he was undressed and about to get into his bed, and then he only wished them good night.

There was no reply, and the boy felt hurt; but just then he recollected something which made him clap his right hand first to his cheek and then to his forehead, as if he fully expected to find both places still wet and warm. They felt still as if his mother's lips had but just left them.

From that moment Alfred lay quite still in the darkness, feeling very happy and contented, till all at once a long-drawn restful sigh escaped his lips, and he was just dropping off to sleep when he awoke again and lay listening, for his three brothers, believing that he had gone off to sleep, began talking again in an eager whisper, but what about he could not tell, till all at once Red said something about "otters."

They were going to have a grand otter hunt up the little Wantage stream with the dogs; and for a few moments a feeling of bitter disappointment came over the boy, for he had looked forward to the day when that hunt would take place.

He felt better when he recalled the Queen's words as he wished her good night. They were:

"I am so glad, Fred, my boy. You have made me feel very happy."

"Father Swythe must have told her what I said," thought Alfred, and in another minute he was asleep.

The next morning after breakfast the boy did not feel half so brave, and he was thinking of how he could get away to the monk's quiet cell-like room without his brothers seeing him; but he was spared from all trouble in that way, for the monk came up to him smiling.

"I'm going to speak to your brothers, Fred," he said. "I told the Queen that you had promised to try very hard, and she said she was very glad, but she would be so much happier if your brothers came too; so I am going to ask them to come. Do you know where they are?"

"Out in the broad courtyard," said Alfred quickly; but Father Swythe shook his head.

"No," he said; "I came across just now, and they were not there."

At that moment the distant barking of a dog was heard; followed by a yelping chorus which made the boy run to the window and look out, to catch sight of three figures and some half-dozen dogs disappearing over the hill slope.

"I think they have gone after the otters with the dogs," said Alfred sadly.

"Oh, I see," said the monk; "and you feel dull because you are not with them?"

Alfred was too honest to deny it.

"Never mind, boy," said the little monk cheerily; "come to my room, and we'll finish making the ink, and then you can learn to read the letters as I make them, while I write out a poem for the Queen; and then I'll get out the red and blue and yellow, and the thin leaves of gold, and we'll try and make a beautiful big letter like those in the Queen's book, and finish it off with some gold."

"But you can't do that?" cried Alfred, interested at once.

"Perhaps not so well as in the Queen's beautiful book; but come and see."

The boy eagerly took hold of the monk's hand, and they were soon seated at the little table in Swythe's room, with the light s.h.i.+ning full upon the slate slab, the pebble grinder, and the black patch.

"You said that was ink yesterday," said the boy, as Swythe gave the pebble a few turns round, and then looked to see if the ink was of the right thickness, which it was not, so a feather was dipped in a water-jug, and a few drops allowed to fall upon the black patch.

"There," said Swythe, "a good writer makes all his own ink. Now you grind that up till it is well mixed. Gently," cried Swythe; "that ink is too precious to be spread all over the slab. Grind it round and round. That's the way! That will do!"

As he spoke, Swythe took a thin-bladed knife and a good-sized, nicely-cleaned fresh-water mussel-sh.e.l.l, and let the boy carefully sc.r.a.pe up all the ink from the slab and place it in the sh.e.l.l.

"That's well done!" he said. "Now we'll write a line of letters."

"Yes," cried the boy; "let me write them."

"I wish you could, Fred, my boy," said the monk, smiling; "but you must first learn."

"That's what I want to do," cried the boy eagerly. "But how am I to learn?"

"By watching me. Now see."

Swythe rose from the table and opened a box, out of which he took a crisp clean piece of nearly transparent sheepskin and a couple of quill pens, sat down again, and then from another box he drew out a piece of lead and a flat ruler--not a lead-pencil such as is now used, but a little pointed piece of ordinary lead--with which he deftly made a few straight lines across the parchment, and then very carefully drew a beautiful capital A, which he finished off with scrolls and turns and tiny vine-leaves with a running stalk and half-a-dozen tendrils.

"But you have put no grapes," cried Alfred.

"Give me time," said Swythe good-humouredly, and directly after he faintly sketched in a bunch of grapes, broad at the top and growing narrower till it ended in one grape alone.

"Oh, I wish I could do that!" cried Alfred eagerly. "But I could never do it so well!"

"I'm going to persevere till I make you do it better," said Swythe.

"Now we'll leave that for a bit and begin a Latin lesson."

Alfred sighed and looked longingly at the faint initial letter.

But his interest was taken up directly, for Swythe took up one of his quill pens, examined it, and then, after giving the ink a stir, dipped in his pen and tried it.

The next minute, while the boy sat resting his chin upon his hands, it seemed as if beautifully-formed tiny letters kept on growing out of the pen, running off at the point, and standing one after another in a row, almost exactly the same size, till four words stood out clearly upon the cream-coloured parchment.

As he formed the letters with his clever white fingers, Swythe repeated the name of each, pausing a little to give finish and effect as well as sound to the words he formed, till he had, after beginning some little distance in, made so many words upon one of the faintly-drawn lines and reaching right across the parchment.

"It's wonderful!" cried Alfred. "I could never do that!"

"It is not wonderful, and you soon will be able to do it," said Swythe; "but let's say all those words over again letter by letter, and then the words."

"They are Latin?" asked the boy.

"Yes," said Swythe, "and you are going to learn them so as to know them next time you see them."

Alfred shook his head, but he managed to repeat the Latin words straightforward, and after a while pick them out when asked. Then the monk proceeded to get out his colours so as to ornament the big initial letter of what Alfred had learned in Latin as well as in English was "The History of the Good King Almon."

Then came the most interesting part of the lesson, for, after Swythe had placed his colours ready--red, yellow, and blue--all in powders ground up so fine that it was necessary to shut out the breeze which came in at the window, Alfred learned how the monk made his brushes, by taking a tuft of badger's hair and tying up one end carefully with a very fine thread of flax.