"Good-bye, then, Father Brian," said Ned. "Come back to the tent, if thou canst. I hope thou wilt soon have a mission school of thine own. There will be scholars enough, but where thou wilt get books and things, I can't guess."

Away rode the good missionary, and Ned, the son of Webb, was left to himself. He did not feel like exploring the camps of the Normans, and his horse galloped on with him until he was pulled in at the shore of the sea. It was at a place where a narrow wooden pier jutted out from a sandy beach between high rocks on either hand.

Here Ned dismounted and walked down to the water's edge, like a boy in a dream. A small scow-built punt, with a mast and sail in it, lay rocking on the waves by the pier.

"I will take off my armour before I get in," he remarked. "I'm glad I kept on my outing shirt and my trousers under my mail, all the while. This is a very curious business. I saved my hat, too. Oh, don't I feel easier and lighter? I never want to be an ironclad again."

His helmet and mail and shield and weapons were pitched from him across the sand in a hurry, and he stepped eagerly into the boat. A good wind was blowing offshore and he put up the sail to catch it.

"I don't feel like rowing," he remarked, "after such a time as I have had. This breeze ought to take me to the other side before sunset. It is a good thing for me that this is Green Lake and not the Atlantic Ocean or the North Sea. Oh, what a tremendous book that is. It's safe in the cubby under the stern seat, too."

On he sailed, after that, swiftly and silently, over the sparkling billows of the little lake. Almost before he was aware of it, the punt ran ashore at the place where Nanny had so skilfully pitched him over her head. He saw the two-wheeled barrow among the weeds a few yards away and he went and brought it to the margin. Into it he carried, with great care and an appearance of something like respect, the great folio History of the Normans.

"I'll go home now," he thought, "but I wish I had Lars with me, and Father Brian. I'd like to show father and mother and all of them my armour."

He found it tiresome work to trundle the barrow, and he was both warm and weary when he reached his grandfather's gate.

"There they are!" he exclaimed. "There's a whole crowd of them, waiting for me."

"Hullo, Ned!" came loudly from within the gate. "Where have you been all day?"

"Why, Uncle Jack – "

"My dear child!" interrupted Grandmother Webb. "I was almost beginning to be worried about you. Why did you stay so?"

"Did you catch anything?" asked his grandfather. "Did you get any bites?"

"Well!" responded Ned, hardly knowing exactly what to say. "I'll tell you how it is. It was this book."

"My folio!" exclaimed Grandfather Webb. "I had no idea that you really would take it along. I'd have said no!"

"I did," said Ned. "I've been invading England with Harold Hardrada of Norway and the Vikings. Then I went all the way from York and the battle of Stamford bridge to the battle of Senlac, with King Harold of England and Duke William the Conqueror."

"Oh, that's it, is it?" exclaimed Uncle Jack. "I know how that is, myself. A man can sit in his own room, nowadays, and travel all around the world. All he needs is plenty of guide-books and maps and histories. You've been doing it, have you? I think you had better keep it up and learn something. Travel everywhere. See all there is to be seen, and know all you can."

"That's what I think I'll do," replied Ned, "but it's hard work, if there's as much fighting as I've been having."

He had the folio in his arms now, as if he were hugging it, but his grandfather took it away as if he were pleased to get it back unwetted by a bath in Green Lake, and carried it back to its place in the library.