"
The astonished looks of the company seemed to demand further explanation.
"Because it is always, 'Alfred did this,' and 'Alfred did that.' If I am
tired of '_hic, haec, hoc_,' I am told Alfred was never weary; if I
complain of a headache, Dunstan says Alfred never complained of pain or
illness, but bore all with heroic fortitude, and all the rest of it. If
I want a better dinner than my respected uncle gives us on fast days in
the palace, I am told Alfred never ate anything beyond a handful of
parched corn on such days; if I lose my temper, I am told Alfred never
lost his; and so on, till I get sick of his name; and here it greets me
in the woods of Mercia."
"I crave pardon, my liege," said Ella, who hardly knew whether to smile
or frown at the sarcastic petulance of his guest, who went on with a sly
smile--"And now old Dunstan does not know where I am. He left me with
a huge pile of books in musty Latin, or crabbed English, and I had to
read this and to write that, as if I were no prince, but a scrivener,
and had to get my living by my pen; but as soon as he was gone I had a
headache, and persuaded my venerable uncle the king, through the
physician, that I needed change of air."
"But what will Dunstan say?"
"Oh, he must fight it out with Sigebert the leech, and Sigebert knows
which side his bread is buttered."
The whole tone of Edwy indicated plainly that the headache was but a
pretence, but he spoke with such sly simplicity that the boys could not
help joining in his contagious laughter; sympathising, doubtless, in his
love of a holiday in the woods.
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