that his ruling motto was "fair play," and that the songs must circle
round.

"So let it be," cried Swend.--"Krake, it is your turn next."

"I won't keep ye waiting," said that worthy, "though I might do it, too,
if I was to put off time selecting from the songs of old Ireland, for
it's endless they are--and in great variety. Sure, I could give ye
songs about hills and streams that are superior to Scotland's burns and
braes any day--almost up to those of Gamle Norge if they were a bit
higher--the hills I mean, not the songs, which are too high already for
a man with a low voice--and I could sing ye a lament that would make ye
shed tears enough to wash us all off the spit of land here into the sea;
but that's not in my way. I'm fond of a lively ditty, so here you are."

With that Krake struck up an air in which it was roundly asserted that
Ireland was the finest country in the world (except Iceland, as he
stopped in his song to remark); that Irish boys and girls lived in a
state of perpetual hilarity and good-will, and that the boys displayed
this amiable and pleasant condition chiefly in the way of kissing the
girls and cracking each other's crowns.

After that, Swend was called on to sing, which he did of Norway with
tremendous enthusiasm and noise but little melody. Then another man
sang a love-ditty in a very gruff voice and much out of tune, which,
nevertheless, to the man's evident satisfaction, was laughingly
applauded. After him a sentimental youth sang, in a sweet tenor voice,
an Icelandic air, and then Tyrker was called on to do his part, but
flatly refused to sing. He offered to tell a saga instead, however,
which he did in such a manner that he made the sides of the Norsemen
ache with laughter--though, to say truth, they laughed more at the
teller than the tale.

Thus with song and saga they passed the first hours of the night, while
the camp-fires blazed ruddily on their weather-beaten faces, and the
heavenly constellations shone, not only on the surrounding landscape,
but appeared to light up another world of cloudland beneath the surface
of the sleeping sea.

At last Karlsefin went out to them.

"Now, lads," said he, "it is high time that you laid your heads on your
pillows. Men who do not sleep well cannot labour well. To-morrow we
have hard work before us in taking possession and settling our new home.
God has prospered us thus far. We have made a good beginning in
Vinland. May it be th