"Come, then, on board my ship, and let us pledge to him in a full
horn of mead," said the viking. And he drew Sigurd with him across
the gangplank, and they went below and sat drinking until one of
the shipmen standing on the vessel's lypting, or poop deck, sounded
a shrill horn as a sign that the ship was about to leave the harbour.

Then Sigurd came ashore and went about the town on the king's
business, and he thought no more of the yellow haired slave boy
until the evening time.

It chanced then that he was again beside the sea.

Down there on the shore he stood alone, idly watching the white
winged seabirds--some floating in their own reflections on the
calm pools of water left by the outgoing tide, others seeking food
amid the green and crimson weeds that lay in bright patches on
the rocks--and often he turned his eyes in the direction of the
setting sun, where, in the mid sea, Jarl Klerkon's dragonship moved
slowly outward, with her wet oars glistening in the rosy light.

Suddenly from behind him there came a merry childish laugh, and he
turned quickly round, and saw very near to him the white clothed
slave boy of the gangplank. The lad was standing at the brink of
a deep pool of seawater, and had, as it seemed, started a fleet of
empty mussel shells to float upon the calm surface. He was dropping
pebbles from his full hand into the water, to give movement to the
tiny boats.

Sigurd stepped quietly behind him, and then said: