Ned, the son of Webb: What he did.

"Ned, son of Webb?" replied the Viking. "Thou art of the south haven men. I know them not well. Come thou to my house. I will meet thy father when he cometh to the gathering."

"I shall be glad to come," said Ned, with his best manners, but he was thinking, "Meet my father? Well! I don't believe he will. I've a pretty clear notion that father won't be there."

"All mine have been fishing also," said Vebba, as he turned to walk away, Ned following with him. "Thou must know that we are salting and smoking every fin we can pull in, that the ships of Harold Hardrada's fleet may not sail without plentiful provisions when he and Tostig Godwinson harness the steeds of the sea to bear the heroes of the North to the conquest of England."

Ned's heart gave a great thump, and Vebba must have noticed how his face flushed with sudden delight, for he laughed loudly and said to him:

"Thou art but young to join in a feast of swords, but we will arm thee and thou shalt sail with us to the shore of Britain. There will be grand fighting when we close with the Saxon host that will meet us under Harold the King."

"That's just what I'd like to see!" exclaimed Ned. "Of all things! I've always wanted to conquer England, and now I'm to have a tip-top chance. When do you all expect to go?"

"It hath taken long to build ships," replied Vebba. "The keels of Hardrada will be fifteen score, and Tostig hath already as many as three score with him at Bruges. We wait, now, only for the outfitting. Let us walk on to the house."

Ned had noticed that, with the exception of Vebba, all whom he had yet seen were barefooted. The chief, however, – for there could be no doubt about his rank, – wore sandals that were strapped to his feet and ankles by broad thongs of leather. Most of the other men wore leathern blouses, which reminded Ned of some buckskin hunting-shirts he had seen pictures of. The women were supplied with gowns, some of which were of coarse woollen stuff and some of leather. All of the garments were more or less fish-soiled, and not a few were ragged. "No style here," thought Ned. "I wonder, though, if a steel cap feels heavy on a fellow's head. Perhaps it doesn't when one gets used to it. Oh, but I'm glad I can understand them. I'd be in the worst kind of fix if I couldn't."

The fish which had been brought to the shore in the boats were very fine. Ned saw cod, haddock, herring, salmon, and some that he was not familiar with. Heaviest of all was a great porpoise they had speared and that lay on the sand ready for cutting up for war purposes. He had never before heard of sea-pigs being eaten.

The village lay somewhat farther from the landing than it had at first appeared, looking at it from the water. It was in a narrow valley between two rugged, mountainous ridges, and all around it were broad fields of cultivated land. Most of the houses were low-roofed and small, constructed of logs and stones and tempered clay that was used to stop chinks and holes with. Three or four of a better sort were built, in part at least, of hewn logs and planks and pretty fair-looking stone-work, but all were irregular in plan and as if they had been builded at random. Of these larger dwellings, the roofs were high-pitched, differing altogether from the mere cabins. Ned did not see any chimneys, and he knew why, after his armoured guide had led him into the most extensive house, at the upper end of the village. It was more like a collection of houses around one huge affair in the middle, and this, when he entered it, seemed to be all one room or hall.

"Hullo!" thought Ned. "There's their fireplace, in the middle of the floor, and the smoke gets out at that hole in the roof, if it can. Well, no, there isn't any floor but the earth except at the end, away there at the left. There's a pretty wide plank platform there."

On this "dais," raised about a foot above the hard beaten earth of the rest of the level, he saw a long table, around which were benches and chairs of various kinds. In the middle, behind the table, was one very high-backed chair of oak, that was covered with grotesque carving.

"That's the dinner-table," he said to himself. "It's big enough for a New York hotel. There are benches and bunks all around the sides of the room. Six windows, too, and not a sash in one of them. That's good enough for summer, but what do they do in winter?"

He had to leave that question unsettled, so many others were coming along. The earth floor seemed to be as hard as stone, but it could not have been swept recently. There were neither carpets nor rugs, but in one corner he saw a spinning-wheel and what looked like a hand-loom for weaving. In another corner was a strong stone-work, at the side of which was an anvil, against which a large bellows was leaning. The clothing he had seen had told him that these people knew what to do with wool and flax.

He was quickly compelled to cut off his observations, for now a tall, handsome, yellow-haired woman came forward and shook hands with him, telling him that she was Wiltna, the wife of Vebba. Following her were other women, and at least a dozen of boys and girls, whose several names he had a great deal of difficulty in catching. He did best of all with one tall, red-haired youngster of about his own age.

"I am Lars, son of Vebba," he said, loudly. "Come with me, and see the hawks and hounds. Let us get away from so many women. I am glad thou art come."

In an instant Ned began to feel at home. What would he have done in a country where there were no boys! – if there ever was such a forlorn land as that.

He and Lars were like old friends in a minute, but they had only to get out of the house to see some of the dogs. A pair of tall, ferocious-looking wolf-hounds came bounding toward them, not barking, but uttering strange, short howls of greeting, and showing dangerous rows of sharp, white teeth. Lars wrestled for a moment with one of them, boxing the animal's ears fearlessly, and Ned made friends with the other. On they all went, then, to a low building behind the house, from which a chorus of howls arose as they drew near.

"Pups that are only half trained," said Lars. "We have to keep 'em shut up. If they and some of the older savages got out, we might never see 'em again. They'd go hunting on their own account, or they'd get among the sheep; then they'd be worse than wolves, for the shepherd dogs wouldn't fight them."

It was hardly necessary for Ned to ask questions, so eager was Lars to entertain him, and to tell him the name and character of all the dogs in all the kennels, older and younger. They went to the stables, after that, and to a paddock.

"Horses enough," thought Ned, "but only a very few of them are large ones. Nanny could run out of sight of anything I've seen here. They're a clumsy-looking lot, and the carts and the harness are all the roughest kind. They don't seem to know what a buckle is, and the wheels are a sight to see. They make pretty good saddles, though. Now for the hawks. I want to see 'em."

On went Lars to his bird-cages, beyond the stables, and here was what Ned called "the biggest kind of poultry show."

There were more than twenty falcons, of all sorts, in Vebba's falconry. All of them were leading dull and tedious lives, sitting on perches, and several of them were not only fettered but hooded. Lars transferred one of these from its perch to his own wrist, over which he wore a thick leather guard to protect the skin from the sharp talons of the bird.

"Come on!" he said. "I'll show thee. There won't be any game in sight, but I'll fly him, and call him. I trained him myself. He's a gerfalcon. Hardrada's brother gave him to father after the fight with the pirates at Croning's Fiord. Father killed five of them, and took one of their boats. It was almost big enough for a ship. It got sunk, though, last winter, by the ice."

So they chatted, back and forth, as they walked along together, away out of the village. They met people who bowed and greeted them, but no other boys seemed to feel at liberty to join them. Ned learned, afterward, that it was considered bad manners for anybody to interfere with hawking or any other kind of sport.

Suddenly Lars uttered a short, sharp cry, as he looked upward, and the falcon began to ruffle his feathers.

"A heron!" exclaimed Lars. "He is well up, but my bird can reach him."

Off came the falcon's hood, and his brilliant eyes winked rapidly as they were getting accustomed again to the light.

"He seeth!" shouted Lars. "I'll cast him!" With a strong motion then he threw his hawk upward, blowing a shrill screech upon a bone whistle that hung by a cord of braided leather around his neck.

"Hurrah!" exclaimed Ned, as the beautiful hawk spread his pinions and sailed swiftly away. "He seeth the heron!"

His own eyes could not see the game very well, so high in the air it was flying, and the sunlight dazzled him.

Higher, higher, in great circles, the falcon sped upward until he arose above the now frightened and screaming heron.

"He will strike soon!" said Lars. "See! He is swooping! He never faileth! He is the king of gerfalcons!"

At that moment the falcon seemed to Ned a mere speck against the sky, while the heron was flying lower, as if its fear bore it downward. Then the speck above it disappeared for a moment, so like a flash of lightning was the unerring pounce of the well-trained bird of prey.

"Struck! Well struck!" shouted Lars. "Forward, now; we must be with them at their falling."

It was not far that they had to run, and Ned kept well abreast of his young Norse comrade. He saw the hawk and the heron strike the earth together, fluttering and struggling, and then the game lay motionless. Forward darted Lars, before the falcon released the grip of his talons, and in a moment more the bird's bright eyes were hooded again.

"He shall not tear," said Lars. "It would harm his training."

Nevertheless, his favourite screamed angrily as he was restored to the wrist of his master.

"Thou knowest," said Lars, "that no hawk will come to a whistle when his talons are in. It is only when they miss that thou canst call them back."

"Do your hawks ever miss?" asked Ned.

"Often," said Lars. "Or else there were soon no more herons. All of these long-billed fowl will fight, too. I have seen an old heron kill a falcon, spiking him."

"I've read about it," thought Ned, "and I'm glad I've seen it done. It's great!"

"Now, houseward," said Lars, picking up the heron. "Didst thou ever slay a wild boar?"

"I never did," confessed Ned.

"Then I am ahead of thee," exulted Lars. "It was but a week ago that my two hounds and I brought a fine one to bay in the gorge of the north mountain thou seest yonder. My father would have held me back, had he been there, but I went in alone. When the boar charged out, my spear went through his heart and the hounds pulled him down. Angry was Vebba, but he bade the carles cut me out the tusks to keep for a prize."

"There are wolves and bears in the forest mountains?" inquired Ned.

"That there are, and many," replied Lars, "but who would go taking them in the summer-time, when their fur is short and thin? No man careth for a bear-skin or a wolf-skin, save in winter, when the fur is full upon them. If thou art here next winter, I will show thee sport. Ye people of the lower fiords and the towns have small enjoyment, I think, save in going to sea. This raid on Britain is to be my first long voyage. My father saith that thou art to sail with us."

"I wouldn't miss it for anything," said Ned. "Canst thou throw a spear?"

"I will show thee soon," said Lars. "But I will not throw before the men lest they say I am but young. How art thou with a sword?"

"Try me!" exclaimed Ned. "I am better with a sword than with a spear."