curious gilded vessel, he said in the soft voice that matched his face
so well and his body so ill: "If you have a boon to ask of your
foster-father, comrade, it is my advice that you forget all such pagan
errors as that story of the curse. Egil, here, came near being spitted
on Leif's sword for merely mentioning Skroppa's name."

Alwin recognized the name with a start. Egil scowled in answer to
Sigurd's curious glance.

"Odin's ravens are not more fond of telling news, than you," the Black
One growled. "At meal-time I have other uses for my jaws than babbling.
Thrall, bring me more fish."

Alwin waited long enough to possess himself of a sharp bronze knife that
lay among the dishes; then he advanced, alertly on his guard, and
shovelled more herrings upon the flat piece of hard bread that served as
a plate. Egil, however, noticed him no more than he did the flies
buzzing around his food. Whatever the cause of their enmity, it was
evidently a secret.

The English youth was retiring in surprise, when Rolf took it into his
head to accost him. The wrestler pointed to a couple of large flat
stones that he had placed, one on top of the other, beside him. "This is
very tough bread that you have given me, thrall," he said reproachfully.

Their likeness to bread was not great, and the jest struck Alwin as
silly. He retorted angrily: "Do you suppose that my wits were cut off
with my hair, so that I cannot tell stones from bread?"

Not a flicker stirred the seriousness of Rolf's blue eyes. "Stones?" he