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The Thrall of Leif the Lucky by Ottilie A. (Ottilia Adelina) Liljencrantz
page 41 of 317 (12%)
said. "I do not know what you mean. Can they be stones that I am able to
treat like this?" His fist arose in the air, doubled itself into the
likeness of a sledge-hammer, and fell in a mighty blow. The upper stone
lay in fragments.

Whereupon Alwin realized that it had all been a flourish to impress him.
So, though unquestionably impressed, he refused to show it. A second
time he was turning his back on them, when Helga stopped him.

"You must bring something that I want, first. In the northeast corner of
the provision shed, was it not, Sigurd?"

Young Haraldsson was scrambling to his feet in futile grabs after one of
the hounds that was making off with his herring, but he nodded back over
his shoulder. Helga looked from one to the other of her companions with
an ecstatic smack of her lips. "Honey," she informed them. "Sigurd ran
across a jar of it last night. That pig of an Olver yonder hid it on the
highest shelf. Very likely the goldsmith's daughter gave it to him and
it was his intention to keep it all for himself. We will put a trick
upon him. Bring it quickly, thrall. Yet have a care that he does not see
it as you pass him. That is he with the bandaged head. If he looks
sharply at you, hide the jar with your arm and it is likely he will
think that you have been stealing some food for yourself, and be too
sleepy to care."

Lord Alwin of Northumbria lost sight of the lounging figures about him,
lost sight of Sigurd chasing the circling hound, lost sight of
everything save the imperious young person before him. He stared at her
as though he could not believe his ears. She waved him away; but he did
not move.
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