An old woman, wrapped in a dark garment, sat almost motionless upon the bench in the warm sunshine. Thin locks of beautiful white hair escaped from beneath the edge of the brown cloak drawn over her head; her hands alone stirred with a slight, regular motion. When the youth's footsteps echoed on the sandy slope of the hillock, she paused in her work and bent forward to listen; then nodding, murmured under her breath: "That's why she slipped away."

"Hail to you, Waldrun!" said the youth, pausing before her. "Don't be frightened--it is I--"

"Adalo, the young noble," interrupted the old woman. "Only the evil-doers fear you."

"You recognize me?"

"When the gods blind the eyes, they give sight to the soul. Though your light footstep rarely rings near me now, I know it well. I often hear it as you hurry past our home, avoiding the house by taking a wide circuit. No one save Bruna, your tame bear, comes to us by daylight from the manor; for you have doubtless forbidden even your fair-haired little brother to visit our house. But brutes are more loyal than human beings: often, very often, Bruna seeks my little maid and Zercho the bondman. When she brings us a wreath of the child's favorite flowers wound around her neck and growling, drags it off to her lap, we know well that the boy Sippilo, not you, sent it. By day you shun us! But--" She bent forward and lowered her voice to a whisper: the youth glanced around in surprise; surely they were still alone--"but by night you often approach stealthily."

Adalo flushed crimson, and sought to divert her thoughts. "Can you spin without seeing?"

"The youngest of the three great Sisters--who was born blind--spins the future of the whole human race. And what I am spinning is as familiar to my fingers as to my thoughts."

"What is it?"

"My shroud. But I do not think that Adalo, son of Adalger, came hither to question Waldrun concerning her thoughts of death. Do you seek my son? Suomar has not yet returned from the Council."

"I do not seek him--he sends me. The Council--last night on Odin's Mountain--resolved to destroy all the houses and harvests." The youth's noble, handsome countenance beamed with the fierce menacing joy of battle as he added: "The Romans are coming."

"They will not tarry long," said the old woman, calmly going on with her spinning. "I have often seen them dash forward in all the pride of strength, and soon sink feebly back again."

"You women, those unable to bear arms, the slaves, and the cattle are to be received in two fortresses far away from the lake--one on Odin's Mountain in the west, the other among the eastern marshes. We shall form two divisions: one stationed in the east, the other in the west. Your son is assigned to the eastern band; he was sent directly from the council to the swamps. The troop will go through the fords there and strengthen the breastwork of logs around the meadows to prevent the entrance of the Italians."

"Then we must hasten eastward to the morasses. We shall be nearer to him there."

Adalo hesitated. His face again crimsoned and he cast a keen glance at the door of the house ere he began: "That was his first idea--and by the decree of the people the fugitives were thus divided. But--some one else--a friend--counselled him not to hide you in the swamps, but--on the Holy Mountain."

"You belong to the western band--on the mountain."

Adalo made no reply.

"You gave him that counsel, Adalo!"

"I do not deny it; you know that I mean kindly. You will be better concealed on the lofty wooded summit of Odin's Mountain than in the marshes. Life in the fever-breeding swamps is full of discomfort--the disease often attacks the inhabitants--and it is not so safe. The eastern band will not remain in your hiding place: Suomar himself cannot protect you; concealment is your sole defence. But on Odin's Mountain, far up within the stone fortress, the gods of the land themselves will shield you. And the life there in the woodland huts and tents built of green branches will be more comfortable and pleasant. And--" he spoke slowly and modestly--"I myself will be there to defend you. Follow me,--to-morrow it may be too late,--follow me at once!"

Just at that moment two acorns fell rattling on the top of the rude stone table and rebounded to the earth. Adalo looked up. "A squirrel?" he asked.

"Yes. A red one," added the old woman, nodding. "It often plays its saucy pranks up there. They are sometimes very spiteful."

"Indeed they are," replied Adalo, laughing. "One which I once caught nearly bit through my finger. There!"

Waldrun felt the fore-finger of his outstretched hand, then without releasing it, said: "There is another scar close by. My naughty granddaughter bit you years ago--do you remember? How did it happen?"

"It was at the spring festival. The west wind was blowing furiously, like the very breath of Odin. She ventured alone in your mouldering boat--the old one hollowed from a log--to cross the lake. The others jeered at her--I pleaded. Every effort was vain. Springing into the skiff, she pushed off: if she passed beyond the rushes into the open water she was lost. I ran after her, waded, swam, and dragged her from the boat, just as it upset. I carried her to the shore, while she writhed and struggled, spitting like an otter, and, by way of thanks, bit my finger."

"And then," replied Waldrun reprovingly, "some spiteful tongue uttered the saying,

"The saying ran through the district, nay, all the provinces by the lake. Wherever my granddaughter went, to pick berries in summer, to comb the flax, to glean, to mow, to thresh--everywhere the jeering couplet greeted her. That was not kind. Or wise!" she added in a lower tone.

"Mother Waldrun, you are right: it was not well done, but no harm was meant."

"Yes, yes, Odin placed the song in your reckless lips and gave you the winged words, the biting jest. You cannot help it! Wherever you see a tempting mark, the arrow of a mocking speech whizzes from your mouth."

"But unvenomed, unbarbed. A blunt little shaft like that with which we strike the pretty red-breast, Donar's favorite, not to harm it, nay, only to capture it unhurt and bear it home to our hearths that it may sing sweetly to us year after year."

"Beware! Everything that has the red hue is passionate, swift to revenge, and slow to forgive.

"Yes," replied the youth laughing. "How runs another verse?

Scarcely was the last line uttered when, high among the topmost boughs of the lofty tree, a strange sound was heard. At the very summit the noise resembled spitting and rattling, while below it was different, like something sliding down the trunk. The first sounds undoubtedly came from a little squirrel, which, startled by some disturbance, chattering and hissing in fear or anger, sprang in a wide curve yet with a sure leap from the topmost bough of the tree to a neighboring oak which stood at a considerable distance.