he had friends who loved him everywhere he went.
The house dogs on every farm knew his step, and ran out to greet him;
the horses rubbed their noses softly upon his homespun tunic; the
birds clustered on his shoulders; the cats came purring up, and the
oxen lowed and shook their bells as soon as they caught sight of him.
The very hens cackled loudly for joy--and Atven would caress them all
with his brown hand, and had a kind word for every one of them.

All the short Northern summer, Atven spent his evenings in searching
about amongst "Thor's balls" for traces of the warriors of the old
legend; and one night, in the soft clearness of the twilight, he came
upon something that rewarded him for all his patient perseverance.

Lifting a mass of seaweed that had completely covered one of the
larger rocks, he saw before him the graceful form of a little
Stone-maiden!

There she lay, as though quietly sleeping, her long dress falling in
straight folds to her feet, her rippled hair spreading about her. One
small hand grasped a chain upon her neck, the other was embedded in
the rock on which she was lying.

Atven was so astonished that he stared at the child-figure as if
turned into a statue himself.

Then he realized that his long search had been rewarded, and he fell
on his knees and prayed that the Stone-maiden might be released from
her prison, and given to him to be a little playfellow.

As soon as it was daylight the next morning, he started off to ask the
advice of his one friend, the old Priest of Adgard.

The day was fine, with a crisp northern air, and a bright sun that
danced on the long stretches of sandy grass, and on the swaying boughs
of the fir trees.

Atven's heart beat hopefully as he neared the neat wooden house in
which the old Priest lived.

Father Johannes welcomed him kindly, as he always did; and listened
attentively whilst Atven told his story.

"It must have consideration, my child," he said. "I will come down to
the shore to-morrow--perhaps I may be able to think of something."

Atven took up his cap humbly, and started on his homeward journey.

As he threaded his way beneath the shadows of the pine-trees, the
sun's fingers darted through the branches and drew a golden pattern on
the mossy ground under his feet; the mosquitoes hummed drowsily, the
air was full of soft summer warmth and brightness--but Atven's
thoughts were far away with the ancient legend and the Stone-maiden.

How had s