, with the tears slowly trickling down her
cheeks.

Alfred felt that this was a most miserable day, and, with his heart
feeling more sore than ever, he crept softly behind his mother's chair
and, quite unobserved, sank down upon his knees to lay his brown and
ruddy cheek against her hand.

The Queen started slightly, and then, raising her hand, she laid it upon
Alfred's fair, curly locks and began to smoothe them.

"Why are you crying, mother?" whispered the boy at last, as he felt that
he must say something, although he knew perfectly well the reason of his
mother's sorrow.

"I am crying, Fred," she said, in a deep sad voice, "because the days go
by and no messenger comes to tell me how the King your father fares; and
more tears came, my boy, because now that I am in such pain and sorrow I
find that my sons, instead of trying to be wise and thoughtful of their
duties, grow more wild and wilful every day."

Alfred drew a deep catching breath which was first cousin to a sob, and
the Queen went on:

"I want them to grow up wise and good, and I find that not only do they
think of nothing except their own selfish ends, but they behave ill to
one of the gentlest, kindest, and best of men--one who is as wise and
learned as he is modest and womanly at heart. It makes mine sore, my
son, at such a time as this, for there is nothing better nor greater
than wisdom, my boy, and he who possesses it leads a double life whose
pleasures are without end. But I am in no mood to scold and reproach
you, Fred. You are the youngest and least to blame. Still, I had
looked for better things of you all than that I should hear that you
openly defy Father Swythe, and have made him come to me to say that he
can do no more, and to ask to be dismissed. There, Fred, leave me now.
I will talk to your brothers when they return from the chase."

Alfred's lips were apart, ready to utter words of repentance; but they
seemed to stick on the way, leaving him dumb.

Feeling more miserable than ever, he stole out, looking guilty and
wretched, and went straight into the garden for a reason of his own.

But it was not to pick flowers or to gather fruit. He wanted to see the
gentle old monk; for he felt as if he could say to him what he could not
utter to the Queen. But there was another disappointment awaiting him.
Swythe was not there, and the boy stamped his foot angrily.

"Oh," he said, half aloud and angrily, "how unlucky I am!"

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