his personal attendant. Alwin
leaped up and attempted to arouse his companion, but the guardsman saved
him the trouble. Leaning out of his saddle, he struck the Wrestler a
smart blow with the flat of his sword.

"What now, Rolf Erlingsson!" he demanded, in tones of thunder. "Because
I go on a five days' journey, must it happen that my men lie like
drunken swine along the roadside? For this you shall feel--"

Before his eyes were fairly open, Rolf was on his feet, tugging at his
sword. Luckily, before he thrust, he got a glimpse of his assailant.

"Leif, the son of Eric!" he cried, dropping his weapon. "Welcome! Hail
to you!"

The warrior's frown relaxed into a grim smile, as he yielded his hand to
his young follower's hearty grip.

"Is it possible that you are sober after all? What in the Fiend's name
do you here, asleep by the road in company with a thrall and a purple
cloak?"

Rolf relaxed into his customary drawl. "That is unjustly spoken, chief.
I have not been asleep. I have found a new and worthy enjoyment. I have
been listening while this Englishman read aloud from a Saxon book of
saints."

"A Saxon book of saints!" exclaimed the guardsman. "I would see it."

When its owner had handed it up, he looked it through hastily, yet
turning the leaves with reverence, and crossing himself whenever he
encountered a pictured cross. As he handed it back, he turned his eyes
on Alwin, blue and piercing as steel.

"It is likely that you are a high-born captive. That you can read is an
unusual accomplishment. It is not impossible that you might be useful to
me. Who is your master? Is it of any use to try to buy you from him?"

Rolf laughed. "Certainly you are well named 'the Lucky,' since you only
wish for what is already yours. This is the cook-boy whom Tyrker bought
to fill the place of Hord."

"So?" said Leif, in unconscious imitation of his old German
foster-father. He sat staring down thoughtfully at the boy,--until his
attendant took jealous alarm, and put his horse through a manoeuvre to
arouse him.

The guardsman came to himself with a start and a hasty gathering up of
his rein. "That is a good thing. We will speak further of it. Now, Olaf
Trygvasson is awaiting my report. Tell them I will be in camp to-morrow.
If I find drunken heads or dulled weapons--!" He looked his threat.

"I will heed your orders in this as in everything," Rolf answered, in
the courtier-phrase of the day. His chief gave him a short