ink."

"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