Ye will be friends anew?"

"We have laid the quarrel by, mother,
Forevermore to sleep,
And he has given me his knife,
As pledge of faith to keep."

"O is it blood or is it rust
That makes the knife so red,
Or is it but the red firelight
That's shining on the blade?"

"No rust is on the blade, mother,
Nor the firelight's ruddy hue;
The bright blood ran upon the knife
To seal our compact true."

"O is it with the pale gray gleam
That comes before the dawn,
Or are ye weary with the road
That ye look so ghastly wan?"

"A long and weary road, mother,
I fared to reach my home,
And I must get me to my bed
That waits for me to come."

"The night is bitter cold, Evan,
See that your bed be warm,
And take your plaid to cover you,