heir feet were tanned and
worn, and dusty also; skin-dry and weary they looked, with the sweat
dried upon them; their girt-up gowns grey and lightless, their
half-unbound hair blowing about them in the dry wind, which had in it no
morning freshness, and no evening coolness.

It was a time when toil was well-nigh done, but had left its aching
behind it; a time for folk to sleep and forget for a little while, till
the low sun should make it evening, and make all things fair with his
level rays; no time for anxious thoughts concerning deeds doing, wherein
the anxious ones could do nought to help. Yet such thoughts those stay-
at-homes needs must have in the hour of their toil scarce over, their
rest and mirth not begun.

Slowly one by one the women went in by the Women's-door, and the Hall-Sun
sat on a stone hard by, and watched them as they passed; and she looked
keenly at all persons and all things. She had been working in the acres,
and her hand was yet on the hoe she had been using, and but for her face
her body was as of one resting after toil: her dark blue gown was
ungirded, her dark hair loose and floating, the flowers that had wreathed
it, now faded, lying strewn upon the grass before her: her feet bare for
coolness' sake, her left hand lying loose and open upon her knee.

Yet though her body otherwise looked thus listless, in her face was no
listlessness, nor rest: her eyes were alert and clear, shining like two
stars in the heavens of dawn-tide; her lips were set close, her brow
knit, as of one striving to shape thoughts hard to understand into words
that all might understand.

So she sat noting all things, as woman by woman went past her into the
hall, till at last she slowly rose to her feet; for there came two young
women leading between them that same old carline with whom she had talked
on the Hill-of-Speech. She looked on the carline steadfastly, but gave
no token of knowing her; but the ancient woman spoke when she came near
to the Hall-Sun, and old as her semblance was, yet did her speech sound
sweet to the Hall-Sun, and indeed to all those that heard it and she
said:

"May we be here to-night, O Hall-Sun, thou lovely Seeress of the mighty
Wolfings? may a wandering woman sit amongst you and eat the meat of the
Wolfings?"

Then spake the Hall-Sun in a sweet measured voice: "Surely mother: all
men who bring peace with them are welcome guests to the Wolfings: nor
will any ask thine errand, but we