A WOLF-PACK IN LEASH

He utters too many
Futile words
Who is never silent;
A garrulous tongue,
If it be not checked,
Sings often to its own harm.
Ha'vama'l

Out in the courtyard the four juniors of Leif's train were resting in
the shade of the great hall, after a vigorous ball-game. It was four
weeks since the crew of the "Sea-Deer" had come into shore-quarters; and
though the warmth of August was in the sunshine, the chill of dying
summer was already in the shadow. Sigurd drew his cloak around him with
a shiver.

"Br-r-r! The sweat drops are freezing on me. What a place this is!"

Rolf, leaning against the door-post, whittling, finished his snatch of
song,

"'Hew'd we with the Hanger!
It happed that when I young was
East in Eyrya's channel
Outpoured we blood for grim wolves,'"--

and looked down with his gentle smile. "If you mean that it is this
doorstep that is not to your mind, you take too much trouble. We must
leave it in a moment; do you not hear that?" He jerked his head toward
the gateway, from which direction they suddenly caught the faint notes
of hunters' horns. "It is Eric's men returning from their sport. In a
little while they will be here, and we must try our luck elsewhere."

He straightened himself lazily, flicking the chips from his dress; but
the other three sat doggedly unmoved.

Alwin said, testily: "I do not see why we must be kept jumping like
frightened rabbits because Leif has ordered us to avoid quarrels. What
trouble can we get into if we remain here without speaking, and give
them plenty of room to pass by us into the hall?"

Rolf smiled amiably at the three scowling faces. "Certainly you are good
mates to Ann the Simpleton, if you cannot tell any better than that what
would happen? They would go a rod out of their way to bump into one of
us. If they have been successful, their blood will be up so that they
will wish to fight for pleasure. If they have failed, they will be
murderous with anger. It took less than that to start the brawl in which
Olver was slain,--which I dare say you have not forgotten."

Alwin winced, and Sigurd shivered with something besides the cold. It
was not the bloody tumult of the fight that they remembered the most
clearly; it was what came after it. True to his interpretation of
hospitality, Eric had punished the murder of his guest's servant by
lopping off, with his own sword, the right hand of the mur