"'Cattle die, Kings die,
Kindred die, we also die,--
One thing never dies,
The fair fame of the valiant.'"

Some one knocked at the door. A real Viking in winged helmet and
scale-armor would hardly have surprised them just then. But it was only
a tall man in a traveler's cloak and hat, and they made quickly room for
him to dry himself by the fire, and brought food and drink for him to
refresh himself.

"I thought that I knew the way to the old place," he said, looking
about, "but in this tempest I nearly lost myself. Which of you is
Thorolf Erlandsson?"

The stranger was Syvert Thorolfson, a merchant of Iceland, Thorolf's
uncle. He brought messages from Nikolina's grandmother in Stavanger, and
from the Bishop, who was ready to see that all the children who had no
relatives should be taken care of in Bergen. Within three days Asgard
the Beautiful was left to the lemming and the raven. Yet the long bright
summer lived always in the hearts of the children. Years after Thorolf
remembered the words of the Wind-wife,--

"Make friends with the Skroelings--make friends. Friendship is a rock to
stand on; hatred is a rock to split on. In the land of Klooskap shall
you be Klooskap's guest."

NOTES

[1] In old Norse families names alternated from father to son. For
example, Thorolf Erlandsson (Thorolf the son of Erland) would name his
son after his own father, and the boy would be known as Erland
Thorolfsson. A daughter was known by her given name and her father's, as
Sigrid Erlandsdatter. In the case of the farm being of sufficient
importance for a surname the name might be added, as "Elsie
Tharaldsdatter Ormgrass."

[2] Northern sailors regard the Finns as wizards.

[3] Fladbrod is the coarse peasant-bread of Norway, made from an
unfermented dough of barley and oatmeal rolled out into large thin cakes
and baked. It will keep a long time.

[4] The teredo or shipworm was a serious peril in the days before the
sheathing of ships. Even tar sheathing was not used until the sixteenth
century.

THE VIKING'S SECRET

In the days of jarl and hersir, while yet the world was young,
And sagas of gods and heroes the grim-lipped minstrel sung,
With the beak of his open galley in the sunset's scarlet flame,
Over the wild Atlantic the Norseland Viking came.

Life was a thing to play with,--oh, then the world was wide,
With room for man and mammoth, and a goblin life beside.