nd stopped him, almost at the door of the booth. In another moment
a crowd gathered around the fallen girl and shut her from his view.
Alwin gazed at the shifting backs with a dreadful vision of golden hair
torn and splashed with blood. She must be dead, for she had not once
screamed. His head was still ringing with the shrieks of his mother's
waiting-women, as the Danes bore them out of the burning castle.

Whitebeard came galloping up, puffing and panting. He was a puny little
German, with a face as small and withered as a winter apple, but a body
swaddled in fur-trimmed tunics until it seemed as fat as a polar bear's.
He rolled off his horse; the crowd parted before him. Then the English
youth experienced another shock.

Bruised and muddy, but neither dead nor fainting, the girl stood
examining her wrist with the utmost calmness. Though her face was white
and drawn with pain, she looked up at the old man with a little twisted
smile.

"It is nothing, Tyrker," she said quickly; "only the girth broke, and it
appears that my wrist is out of joint. We will go in here, and you shall
set it."

Tyrker blinked at her for a moment with an expression of mingled
affection and wonder; then he drew a deep breath. "Donnerwetter, but you
are a true shield-maiden!" he said in a wavering treble.

The trader received them with true Norse hospitality; and Alwin watched
in speechless amazement while the old man ripped up the scarlet sleeve
and wrenched the dislocated bones into position, without a murmur from
the patient. Despite her strange dress and general dishevelment, he
could see now that she was a beautiful girl, a year or two younger than
himself. Her face was as delicately pink-and-pearly as a sea-shell, and
corn-flowers among the wheat were no bluer than the eyes that looked out
from under her rippling golden tresses.

When the wrist was set and bandaged, the trader presented them with a
silken scarf to make into a sling, and had them served with horns of
sparkling mead. This gave a turn to the affair that proved of special
interest to Alwin. There is an old Norse proverb which prescribes "Lie
for lie, laughter for laughter, gift for gift;" so, while he accepted
these favors, Tyrker began to look around for some way to repay them.

His gaze wandered over fabrics and furs and weapons, till it finally
fell upon the slaves' bench. "Donnerwetter!" he said, setting down his
horn. "To my mind it has just come that Leif a cook-