This would make a wharf for the boats.

"This mortar o' yours might ha' balked the Flood o' Noah, belike," said Farmer Appleby, when they were mixing the last lot.

"I wasna there, and I canna say," said David. "But there's a way to lay the stones that's worth knowing for a job like this. Let's see if ye ken your lesson, young chap."

David's amus.e.m.e.nt at Barty's intense interest in the work had changed to genuine liking. The boy showed a judgment in what he did, which pleased the mason. He had always built walls and dams with the stones he gathered when his father set him at work. His favorite playground was the stone-heap. Now he laid selected stones so deftly and skillfully that the tiny wall he was raising was almost as firm as if mortar had been used.

"You lay the stones in layers or courses," he explained, "the stretcher stones go lengthwise of the wall and the head-stones with the end on the face of the wall, and you lay first one and then the other, 'cordin' as you want them. When the big stones and the little ones are fitted so that the top of the layer is pretty level it's coursed rubble, and that's better than just building anyhow."

"What wey is it better?" interposed David.

Barty pondered. "It looks better anyhow. And then, if you want to put cut stone, or beams, on top, you're all ready. Besides, it takes some practice to lay a wall that way, and you might as well be practicing all you can."

The two men chuckled. A part of this, of course, Farmer Appleby already knew, but he had never explained to Barty.

The boy went on. "The stones ought to be fitted so that the face of the wall is laid to a true line. If you slope it a little it's stronger, because that makes it wider at the bottom. But if you slope it too much the water won't run off and the snow will lie. If you've got any big stones put them where they will do the most good, 'cause you want the wall to be strong everywhere. A bigger stone that is pretty square, like this, can be a bond stone, and if you use one here and there it holds the wall together. David says the English gener'lly build a stone wall with a row of headers and then a row of stretchers, but in Flanders they lay a header and then a stretcher in every row."

"How many loads of stone will it take for this wall?" asked David. Barty hesitated, measured with his eye, and then made a guess. "How much mortar?" He guessed again. The estimate was so near Farmer Appleby's own figures that he was betrayed into a whistle of surprise.

"He's gey canny for a lad," said David, grinning. "He's near as wise as me. We've been at that game for a month."

"Never lat on, but aye lat owre, Twa and twa they aye mak' fowre."

Barty quoted a rhyme from David.

"I reckon you've earned over and above your pay," said Farmer Appleby.

He foresaw the usefulness of all this lore when Barty was a little older. The boy could direct a gang of heavy-handed laborers nearly as well as he could.

"Any mason that's worth his salt will dae that," said David, unconcernedly.

Barty was experimenting with his stone-laying when a hunting-party of strangers came down the bridle-path from the fens, where they had been hawking for a day. The fame of the Appleby culvert had spread through the country, and people often came to look at it, so that no one was surprised. The leader of the group was a middle-aged stout man, with close-clipped reddish hair, a full curly beard and a masterful way of speaking; he had a bow in his hand, and paced to and fro restlessly even when he was talking.

"Who taught you to build walls, my boy?" asked a young man with bright dark eyes and a citole over his shoulder.

"David," said Barty. "He's a Scot. When he was in France they called him David Saumond because of his leaping. He can dance fine."

"And who taught David?" inquired the stranger.

"The birds," Barty answered with a grin. "There's a song."

"Let's have it," laughed the minstrel, and Barty sang.

"I gaed awa' to Holyrood, and there I bug a kirk, And a' the birds o' a' the air they helpit me to work.

The whaup wi' her lang bill she pried out the stane, The dove wi' her short bill she brought them hame, The pyet was a wily bird and bug up the wa', The corby was a silly bird and pu'd it down ava, And then cam' auld Tod Lowrie and skelpit them a'."

"What's all that, Ranulph?" queried the masterful man, pausing in his walk. Ranulph translated, with a mischievous twinkle in his eye, for there was more in the song than Barty knew. Each of the birds stood for one or another of the Scotch lords who had figured in the recent trouble between William of Scotland and the English King, and Tod Lowrie is the popular Scotch name for the red fox. It is not every king who cares to hear himself called a fox to his face, even if he behaves like one.

David and Farmer Appleby, coming through the orchard, were rather aghast.

As they came to a halt, and made proper obeisance to their superiors, the King addressed David in Norman such as the common folk used.

"So you hold it folly to pull down a wall? There's not one stone left on another in Milan since Frederick Barbarossa took the city."

"Ou ay," said David coolly. "If he had to build it up again he'd no be so blate, I'm thinkin'."

The King laughed and so did the others. "I wish I had had you seven years ago," he said, "when we d.y.k.ed the Loire. There were thirty miles of river bank at Angers, flooded season after season, when a well-built river wall would have saved the ruin. A man that can handle rubble in a marsh like this ought to be doing something better."

"I learned my trade on that d.y.k.e," said David. "They Norman priors havena all learned theirs yet. I was at the Minster yonder, and if I'd built my piers like they said, the water would ha' creepit under in ten years' time."

"And in ten years, that Prior hopes to be Archbishop without doubt,"

said the King with a shrug. "Was that all?"

"Nay," said David. "Their ashlars are set up for vanity and to be seen o' men. Ye must have regard to the disposition of the building-stone when ye build for good an' all. It doesna like to be stood up just anyhow. Let it lie as it lay in the quarry, and it's content."

Barty was watching the group, his blue eyes blazing and the apple-red color flushing his round cheeks. The King was talking to David as if he were pleased, and David, though properly respectful, was not in the least afraid. The Plantagenets were a race of building Kings. They all knew a master mason when they saw him.

"So you changed the ancient course of the flood into that culvert, did you?" the King inquired, with a glance at the new channel.

"Aye," said David. "No man can rule the watters of the heavens, and it's better to d.y.k.e a flood than to dam it, if ye can." The King, with a short laugh, borrowed tablet and ink-horn from his scribe and made a note or two.

[Ill.u.s.tration: "'IT IS TIME TO SET HIM BUILDING FOR ENGLAND'"]

"When I find a Scotch mason with an English apprentice building Norman arches in the Danelaw," said Henry, "it is time to set him building for England. I hear that William, whom they call the Englishman, is at work in Canterbury. When you want work you may give him this, and by the sight of G.o.d have a care that there is peace among the building-stones."

David must have done so, for on one of the stones in a world-famed cathedral may be seen the mason's mark of David le Saumond and the fish which is his token.

LONDON BRIDGE (1066)

It was almost an hundred years ago, When Ethelred was King. This town of London Was held by Danes. Olaf the King of Norway Came with his host to fight for Ethelred And with his galleys rowed beneath the bridge, Lashed cables round the piers, and caught the tide That lent the strength of Ocean to their strength Rowing down-stream. Ah, how the strong oars beat The waters into foam--and how the Danes Above upon the bridge fought furiously With stones and arrows--but the bridge went down-- The bridge went down. So Ethelred was King.

And now the bridge has been built up again.

'Tis not a thing of timbers, or hewn stone; It is a weaving of men's hopes and dreams From sh.o.r.e to sh.o.r.e. It is a thing alive.

The men of Surrey and the men of Kent, The men of Suss.e.x and Northumberland, The shepherds of the downs, the Wealden forges, Fishermen, packmen, bargemen, masons, all The traffickers of England, made our bridge.

It is a thing enchanted by the thoughts Of all our people.

[Ill.u.s.tration]

XIV

AT BARTLEMY FAIR

HOW BARTY APPLEBY WENT TO THE FAIR AT SMITH FIELD AND CAUGHT A MISCREANT

The farmer's life is a very varied one, as any one who ever lived on a farm is aware. In some seasons the work is so pressing that the people hardly stop to eat or sleep. At other times Nature herself takes a hand, and the farmer has a chance to mend walls, make and repair harness, clear woodland and do some hedging and ditching while the land is getting ready for the next harvest. This at any rate was the way in medieval England, and the latter part of August between haying and harvest was a holiday time.