f books,' said Puck. 'I warned thee they were
wise children. All people can be wise by reading of books.'

'But are the books true?' Sir Richard frowned. 'I like not all this
reading and writing.' 'Ye-es,' said Puck, holding the naked dandelion
head at arm's length. 'But if we hang all fellows who write falsely,
why did De Aquila not begin with Gilbert the Clerk? He was false
enough.'

'Poor false Gilbert. Yet, in his fashion, he was bold,' said Sir
Richard.

'What did he do?' said Dan.

'He wrote,' said Sir Richard. 'Is the tale meet for children, think
you?' He looked at Puck; but 'Tell us! Tell us!' cried Dan and Una
together.

Thorkild's Song

There's no wind along these seas,
Out oars for Stavanger!
Forward all for Stavanger!
So we must wake the white-ash breeze,
Let fall for Stavanger!
A long pull for Stavanger!

Oh, hear the benches creak and strain!
(A long pull for Stavanger!)
She thinks she smells the Northland rain!
(A long pull for Stavanger!)

She thinks she smells the Northland snow,
And she's as glad as we to go.

She thinks she smells the Northland rime,
And the dear dark nights of winter-time.

Her very bolts are sick for shore,
And we--we want it ten times more!

So all you Gods that love brave men,
Send us a three-reef gale again!

Send us a gale, and watch us come,
With close-cropped canvas slashing home!

But--there's no wind in all these seas.
A long pull for Stavanger!
So we must wake the white-ash breeze,
A long pull for Stavanger!

OLD MEN AT PEVENSEY

'It has naught to do with apes or Devils,'Sir Richard went on, in an
undertone. 'It concerns De Aquila, than whom there was never bolder
nor craftier, nor more hardy knight born. And remember he was an old,
old man at that time.'

'When?' said Dan.

'When we came back from sailing with Witta.'

'What did you do with your gold?' said Dan.

'Have patience. Link by link is chain-mail made. I will tell all in
its place. We bore the gold to Pevensey on horseback--three loads of
it--and then up to the north chamber, above the Great Hall of Pevensey
Castle, where De Aquila lay in winter. He sat on his bed like a little
white falcon, turning his head swiftly from one to the other as we told
our tale. Jehan the Crab, an old sour man-at-arms, guarded the
stairway, but De Aquila bade him wait at the stair-foot, and let down
both leather curta