In the little
silence which followed the fire crackled and whistled, the gusty
rain-drenched wind beat upon the little hut. And then Nils repeated
musingly the ancient saying from the Runes of Odin,
"'Cattle die, Kings die,
Kindred die, we also die,--
One thing never dies,
The fair fame of the valiant.'"
Some one knocked at the door. A real Viking in winged helmet and
scale-armor would hardly have surprised them just then. But it was only
a tall man in a traveler's cloak and hat, and they made quickly room for
him to dry himself by the fire, and brought food and drink for him to
refresh himself.
"I thought that I knew the way to the old place," he said, looking
about, "but in this tempest I nearly lost myself. Which of you is
Thorolf Erlandsson?"
The stranger was Syvert Thorolfson, a merchant of Iceland, Thorolf's
uncle. He brought messages from Nikolina's grandmother in Stavanger, and
from the Bishop, who was ready to see that all the children who had no
relatives should be taken care of in Bergen. Within three days Asgard
the Beautiful was left to the lemming and the raven. Yet the long bright
summer lived always in the hearts of the children. Years after Thorolf
remembered the words of the Wind-wife,--
"Make friends with the Skroelings--make friends.
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