tly to avoid the
deluge, partly for fun, rolled out of the tent, when he got up and dried
his dripping beard.

"No more of that, fair girl, I beseech thee," he said, resuming his
place and occupation. "I will not again offend--if thou wilt not again
misunderstand!"

Freydissa made no reply to this, silence being her usual method of
showing that she condescended to be in good humour--and they were all
very merry over their evening meal. From the noise and laughter and
songs around them, it was evident that the rest of the company were
enjoying their first night on shore to the full, insomuch that Olaf was
led, in the height of his glee, to express a wish that they could live
in that free-and-easy fashion for ever.

"'Tis of no use wishing it," observed Karlsefin; "if you would insure
success you must, according to Biarne, drink it in beer."

"I cry you mercy, skipper," said Biarne; "if you persecute me thus I
shall not be able to drink any more to-night. Hand me the jar,
Thorward, and let me drink again before I come to that pass."

"Hark!" exclaimed Gudrid, "there must be something going to happen, for
all the men have become suddenly quiet."

They listened intently for a moment or two, when Krake's voice broke the
deep silence:--"Come, now, don't think so long about it, as if ye were
composing something new. Every one knows, sure, that it's about sweet
Scotland you're going to sing."

"Right, Krake, right," replied a rich deep voice, which it required no
sight to tell belonged to Hake, the young Scot; "but there are many
songs about sweet Scotland, and I am uncertain which to choose."

"Let it be lively," said Krake.

"No, no, no," chorussed some of the men; "let it be slow and sad."

"Well well," laughed the half-Irishman--as he was fond of styling
himself--"have it your own way. If ye won't be glad, by all means be
sad."

A moment after, Hake's manly tones rose on the still air like the sound
of an organ, while he sang one of the ancient airs of his native land,
wherein, like the same airs of modern days, were sounded the praises of
Scotland's heather hills and brawling burns--her bonny daughters and her
stalwart sons.

To those in the large tent who had listened, with breathless attention
and heads half averted, it was evident that song, sentiments, and singer
were highly appreciated, from the burst of hearty applause at the
conclusion, and the eager demand for another ditty. But Hake protested