ome. There is a record that their contribution, being in
kind, namely, walrus teeth, was sold in 1386 by the Pope's agent to
a merchant in Flanders for twelve livres, fourteen sous. They kept
up communication with their kin across the seas until the Black
Death swept through the Old World in the Fourteenth Century; Norway,
when it was gone, was like a vast tomb. Two-thirds of its people lay
dead. Those who were left had enough to do at home; and Greenland
was forgotten.

The seasons passed, and the savages, with whom the colonists had
carried on a running feud, came out of the frozen North and
overwhelmed them. Dim traditions that were whispered among the
natives for centuries told of that last fight. It was the Ragnarok
of the Northmen. Not one was left to tell the tale. Long years
after, when fishing vessels landed on that desolate coast, they
found a strange and hostile people in possession. No one had ever
dared to settle there since.

This last Egede knew, but little more. He believed that there were
still settlements on the inaccessible east coast of Greenland where
descendants of the old Northmen lived, cut off from all the world,
sunk into ignorance and godlessness,--men and women who had once
known the true light,--and his heart yearned to go to their rescue.
Waking and dreaming, he thought of nothing else. The lamp in his
quiet study shone out over the sea at night when his people were
long asleep. Their pastor was poring over old manuscripts and the
logs of whalers that had touched upon Greenland. From Bergen he
gathered the testimony of many sailors. None of them had ever seen
traces of, or heard of, the old Northmen.

To his bishop went Egede with his burden. Ever it rang in his ears:
"God has chosen you to bring them back to the light." The bishop
listened and was interested. Yes, that was the land from which
seafarers in a former king's time had brought home golden sand.
There might be more. It couldn't be far from Cuba and Hispaniola,
those golden coasts. If one were to go equipped for trading, no
doubt a fine stroke of business might be done. Thus the Right
Reverend Bishop Krog of Trondhjem, and Egede went home,
disheartened.

At home his friends scouted him, said he was going mad to think of
giving up his living on such a fool's chase. His wife implored him
to stay, and with a heavy heart Egede was about to abandon his
purpose when his jealous neighbor, whose parishioners had been going
to hear