aid Alfred, with a quick, old-fashioned look. "We cannot do
that, boys."

"Come, that's bravely spoken, Alfred, boy; I like that," said the jarl,
leaning down from his horse to pat the youngest boy on the shoulder.
"Look here, if I come back safely after beating the Danes I'll bring you
one of their winged helmets for a prize."

"You will?" cried Alfred.

"I promise you I will, my boy," cried the big Saxon noble, "and trophies
for your brothers too.--There, we must go on. Good-bye, my brave boys.
Give them a shout, my lads."

The men waved sword and spear in the air as they marched off and Alfred
and his brothers stood watching them till the last twinkling spear had
disappeared in the distance, and then the boys turned away with a sigh.

"Oh, I wish I was a man!" said Alfred sadly.

"No use to wish," said the next brother. "Here, let's go on down the
stream to get some fish."

The disappointment was soon forgotten, and the boys dashed off downhill
as hard as they could go, neither of them hearing a shout, nor seeing
the little monk come panting up, to stand gazing ruefully after them and
wiping the great drops of perspiration off his face and head.

"Oh, dear!" he said; "it's a fine thing to be young and strong, and--"

He paused for a few moments to look down at his plump proportions.

"--And light," he added sadly. "I can't run as they do."

He stood perfectly still as he spoke, watching the deep crease in the
valley, whose bottom was hidden by clumps of willow and beds of reeds
with their dark purply waving blooms.

"I suppose I must go after them," he sighed. "What can they want down
there?"

The little monk sighed again and then started off to follow the boys,
trying hard to walk slowly and steadily; but it was all in vain. The
hill-side sloped very steeply to the broad bed of willows and reeds far
below, making the way very bad for so heavy and inactive a man. Worse
still: walking over the short grass in the hot sun had made the bottoms
of the monk's sandals as slippery as glass, and so it was that before he
had gone far down the slope he began to talk to himself, at first
slowly--then quickly--then in a loud excited way--and lastly he uttered
a shout and a cry for help.

"Here," he said, at first, "I want to go down slowly. It's too hot to
walk fast. Steady! Why, I am going faster!"

Then there was a minute's pause, and the monk cried excitedly:

"I don't want to run." Then: "Oh, dea