n's eyes
flared up hotly. But he would make no promises, as he arose to answer
the summons.

The little maid carried an anxious heart to her task of mending Helga's
torn kirtle.

No one seemed to notice the young thrall when he came among them and
began to refill the empty cups. The older men, sprawling on the
sun-flecked grass and over the rude benches, were still drowsy from too
deep soundings in too many mead horns. The four young people were
talking together. They sat a little apart in the shade of some birch
trees which served as rests for their backs,--Helga enthroned on a bit
of rock, Rolf and Sigurd lounging on either side of her, the black-maned
Egil stretched at her feet. Between them a pair of lean wolf-hounds
wandered in and out, begging with glistening eyes and poking noses for
each mouthful that was eaten,--except when a motion of Helga's hand
toward a convenient riding-switch made them forget hunger for the
moment.

"I wonder to hear that Leif was not at the feast last night," Sigurd was
saying, as he sipped his ale in the leisurely fashion which some of the
old sea-rovers in the distance condemned as French and foolish.

Swallowing enough of the smoked meat in her mouth to make speaking
practicable, Helga answered: "He will be away two days yet; did I not
tell you? He has gone south with a band of guardsmen to convert a chief
to Christianity."

"Then Leif himself has turned Christian?" Sigurd exclaimed in
astonishment. "The son of the pagan Eric a Christian! Now I understand
how it is that he has such favor with King Olaf, for all that he comes
of outlawed blood. In Wisby, men thought it a great wonder, and spoke of
him as 'Leif the Lucky,' because he had managed to get rid of the curse
of his race."

Rolf the Wrestler shook his head behind his uplifted goblet. He was an
odd-looking youth, with chest and shoulders like the forepart of an ox,
and a face as mild and gently serious as a lamb's. As he put down the
curious gilded vessel, he said in the soft voice that matched his face
so well and his body so ill: "If you have a boon to ask of your
foster-father, comrade, it is my advice that you forget all such pagan
errors as that story of the curse. Egil, here, came near being spitted
on Leif's sword for merely mentioning Skroppa's name."

Alwin recognized the name with a start. Egil scowled in answer to
Sigurd's curious glance.

"Odin's ravens are not more fond of telling news, than you," the Bl