as
gold leaf; but Alfred shook his head.

"It looks very beautiful," he said; "but I don't like it. The edges are
all rugged and rough."

"So they are!" replied Swythe, and, taking now a clean dry brush, he
began to smoothe and dab and press gently till there was not a trace
left of where the scraps of gold joined or lay one over the other, all
becoming strong and perfect excepting the edges, where the gold lay
loose, till, quite satisfied with his work, the monk passed his brush
briskly over the letter, carrying off every scrap of gold outside the
gummed letter, and leaving this clean, smooth, and glistening.

"Oh, Father Swythe," cried Alfred, clapping his hands, "you are clever!
It's beautiful!"

"You like it, then, my boy?" said the old man gravely. "You shall soon
be able to do that with your light fingers."

The boy looked down at his hands and then took up the pen the monk had
laid down, dipped it in the ink, and tried to make a letter.

"Well done," said Swythe, smiling; "that is something like O. Now make
another, and try if you can make it worse than the last."

The boy looked up at him sharply.

"You are laughing at me!" he said.

"Well, if I am, it is only to make you try and do better. Go on again!"

The boy hesitated before looking hard at the letter he had tried to
imitate, and then tried once more.

"Ever so much better!" cried the monk. "Come to me every day, and try
like that, and in a very short time you will be able to read and write."

CHAPTER SIX.

THE GREAT WHITE HORSE.

Encouraged by these words of the monk and the smiles and praises of the
Queen, Alfred made rapid progress, which, oddly enough, grew quicker
still from the way in which Bald and his brothers ridiculed him and
laughed at his attempts, for their gibes angered him, but only made him
work the harder, and with results which Swythe told the Queen were
wonderful. Six long weary weeks had passed away since Ethelwulf had
gone with his little army against the Danes, and only once had news been
received, so that Queen Osburga's face grew whiter, thinner, and more
sad day by day, till one evening when, after a long hard day's work with
the monk, the pair went up to the top of the highest hill near to watch
for the appearance of a messenger. Swythe could see no sign of
anything.

"There is no news," he said sadly. "Let us go back. The Queen is
waiting to hear what we have found."

"There is news," cried the bo