"The matter is one that is somewhat urgent, I fear, for the boy ought to be with Wilfrid before night, in case the eorldoman Berchthune should send for him. But let us see if we cannot get any of these children to take a message for us."
So saying, Father Dicoll called out to a group of children that were making mud pies on the shore a little way off.
The children paid no attention at first, for they were making too much noise among themselves to be able to hear Father Dicoll. At last, a curly pated, blue-eyed, young Saxon heard him, and thumped a few of the other children to make them keep quiet, which, strangely enough, had the desired effect, which caused brother Corman, who was of a moralising turn, to observe how strangely the same process produced different results.
"For if I beat these younglings they don't keep quiet, but raise a greater clamour; whereas when that yellow-haired pagan beats his brethren they keep as quiet as mice. Perhaps they know that the process will go on until they stop, with him; whereas they have found out that after the blow has fallen there is no more danger from me. Truly, to get what one wants in this world, one ought to have no heart, and keep on thumping."
"Here, Ceolric, my child," called Father Dicoll, "I want to know if thou wilt do something for me."
The youngster ran up to the monk readily when he understood he wanted him, for the monks were favourites with the children and their mothers, and were not disliked by the men; indeed, by most they were decidedly liked.
"Dost thou think thou couldest find thy way to Cymenesora if brother Corman were to put thee over the creek?"
"I don't know, Father Dicoll; it is a good long way and father said I wasn't to go away far from home."
"Is thy father in?"
"Not as I know, but mother is. There she stands yonder, thou hadst best ask her."