--for Olaf drank in
stories, and songs, and jests, as the sea-sand drinks water--so said
Tyrker; but Krake immediately contradicted him, saying that when the
sea-sand was full of water it drank no more, as was plain from the fact
that it did not drink up the sea, whereas Olaf went on drinking and was
_never_ satisfied.

"Come, sing us a song, Krake," cried Tyrker, giving the former a slap on
the shoulder; "let us hear how the Danish kings were served by the Irish
boys."

"Not I," said Krake, firmly. "I've told ye two stories already. It's
Hake's turn now to give us a song, or what else he pleases."

"But you'll sing it after Hake has sung, won't you, Krake?" pleaded
several of the men.

"I'll not say `No' to that."

Hake, who possessed a soft and deep bass voice of very fine quality, at
once acceded to the request for a song. Crossing his arms on his chest,
and looking, as if in meditation, towards the eastern horizon, he sang,
to one of his national airs, "The Land across the Sea."

The deep pathos of Hake's voice, more than the words, melted these hardy
Norsemen almost to tears, and for a few minutes effectually put to
flight the spirit of fun that had prevailed.

"That's your own composin', I'll be bound," said Krake, "an' sure it's
not bad. It's Scotland you mean, no doubt, by the land across the sea.
Ah! I've heard much of that land. The natives are very fond of it,
they say. It must be a fine country. I've heard Irishmen, who have
been there, say that if it wasn't for Ireland they'd think it the finest
country in the world."

"No doubt," answered Hake with a laugh, "and I dare say Swend, there,
would think it the finest country in the world after Norway."

"Ha! Gamle Norge," [Old Norway] said Swend with enthusiasm, "there is
no country like _that_ under the sun."

"Except Greenland," said Olaf, stoutly.

"Or Iceland," observed Biarne, who had joined the group. "Where can you
show such mountains--spouting fire, and smoke, and melted stones,--or
such boiling fountains, ten feet thick and a hundred feet high, as we
have in Iceland?"

"That's true," observed Krake, who was an Icelander.

"Oh!" exclaimed Tyrker, with a peculiar twist of his ugly countenance,
"Turkey is the land that beats all others completely."

At this there was a general laugh.

"Why, how can that be?" cried Swend, who was inclined to take up the
question rather hotly. "What have you to boast of in Turkey?"

"Eh! Wha