Ned, the son of Webb: What he did.

Then he remarked, to himself:

"I don't believe he ever had a better fencing-master than I did. We'll see."

They were soon at the house, and, to Ned's surprise, it was old Vebba himself who ordered his son into what he called the house of arms. It was only a kind of barn of split logwork at the right of the central dwelling. It had a good earthen floor, however, and its walls inside were hung with many weapons.

"So," thought Ned, "is the great hall in yonder. I'm going to take a good look at them, by and by."

"Take this light shield," said Vebba to Ned, "and this thin blade. It is heavy enough for thee. Thou wilt first fence with Svip, the son of Pend."

"No shield," said Ned, a little proudly, putting it down on the floor. "Let him punch away at me."

Several grown-up Vikings were standing around watching, and they all uttered exclamations of surprise, but Svip, a youth as tall as Lars, stepped promptly forward, sword in hand. Neither of them wore armour, but the shield of Svip was a pretty heavy weight for a fencer to carry, – unless the other fencer should also be weighted.

Svip was even irritated by something in the confident manner of Ned, the son of Webb, and he attacked vigorously, striking and pushing. Of course it was not intended that any hurt should be done. The swords were blunt on edge and point, and the hilts were basketed with strong steelwork. On each boy's head was also a thick bull-hide cap, serving as a helmet. No blow of those dull blades could split such a cap.

In half a minute there were loud exclamations of admiration, for Ned's fencing-master at home had indeed been a good one. Svip, the son of Pend, had no chance with him whatever, for there was no science at all in him. He was even forced across the room with several hard raps upon his leathern helmet, and then he was disarmed, his sword flying from his hand.

"Thou art a young swordsman!" shouted Vebba. "Thou mayest go with Hardrada. Thy father will be proud of thee. Thou shalt give Lars his lessons in thy skill of fence. Try thou a spear."

Ned looked at the light javelins they brought out, and he did not wish to let them see how little he knew of spears; but a wooden target was set, and the other boys made their casts. It was his turn, and he could not back out. He imitated their manner of swaying and balancing, and then he sent his javelin.

"All an accident," he thought, "but I landed mine between theirs."

"Thou throwest well," said Vebba. "Take now a shield and let us see if thou canst catch as well as throw."

Ned was silent, for at that moment Lars stepped forth, shield on arm and spear in hand, to let the other youngsters throw headless javelins at him at ten paces.

"That's the way they do it, is it?" he said, to himself, as Lars caught throw after throw upon his shield, quite skilfully. "Any baseball catcher can beat that. I'm the best catcher in our nine. I can pitch, too. I can stop one of those things."

It was his turn next. He did not actually throw down the shield, this time, but he held it close to him and parried with only his spear-shaft the throws of Lars and the others. Only one cast went by his guard to ring against the shield.

"It is the better way," said Vebba. "It is the skill of old warriors. I can catch the spears of battle on sword or axe. Thou wilt need the less armour. But who may parry the swift arrow? Thou wilt need good mail for English arrows."

Long and tiresome was the exercise, but it terminated suddenly, for the sound of a horn blast came loudly through the open door.

"Dinner!" exclaimed Lars. "Oh, Ned, the son of Webb, all we are ready to eat. I am ever glad to hear the sound of that crooked horn. Let us go."

Whatever was Ned's reply in Norwegian, his inner thought was, "I'm as ready as he is."

CHAPTER V.

THE WAR SUMMONS

"There!" thought Ned, as he reëntered the great central hall of Vebba's house. "One of those other buildings that are stuck on to this is their kitchen."

He saw several of the women coming in with dishes through an open doorway near him, and he stepped forward for a look at the place from which they came. He saw no cooking stove or range, but there was a charcoal fire in the middle of the floor. Around this were the cooks with kettles, gridirons, and saucepans of entirely familiar shapes. There was no smoke, and instead of it there was an unpleasant smell of burning charcoal. He noticed particularly that some of the cooking utensils had a brassy look, and he soon afterward discovered that his new friends knew how to do a great many things with copper and bronze as well as with iron and steel.

Almost everybody was now hastening toward the dinner-table on the dais. If, under ordinary circumstances, noon might be the dinner-hour, upon this occasion there was a variation. Not only the fishermen of the family, but several other persons, had but just arrived, and this late meal was to be something of an affair.

Sitting down at the table appeared to be a matter of particular ceremony, and it quickly aided Ned in understanding how minute and sharp were the distinctions of social position and rank among the Norsemen. They were a free people, but for all that any man's ancestry, his wealth, and his achievements in war had much to do with the esteem in which he was held and the place he might sit in. Vebba himself was evidently of high degree, and he took his seat in the high-backed middle chair behind the table with great dignity. At his right was Madame Vebba, as Ned called her, or Wiltna, and at his left was a short, black-haired woman who wore a gold bracelet and a high cap. She might be a guest of rank. After these, on either hand, were seated men and women with evident precision according to some rule. Lars and Ned and other youths, not yet considered especially distinguished, were at the left end of the table, and a number of young women and girls were at the right end. There were many servants to fetch and carry dishes.

"The plates are wooden!" said Ned. "They won't break if you drop 'em. Some of the cups and pitchers are of wood. Made with hoops like little pails. They make all sorts of pails. Horn cups, crockery, green glass, – why don't they make window glass, too?"

He had taken his seat by Lars, and the first entirely thoughtless thing that he did was to speak to one of the men waiters, saying:

"Knife and fork, please."

"Oh!" exclaimed Lars. "I see! He hath no cutter. Bring him a good blade."

Ned's cheeks were blazing. He had almost forgotten that he was not at home. There was not one solitary fork in the hall of Vebba the chief.

"No!" he said aloud. "Nor a napkin, nor a table-cloth, nor a potato!"

"I hear thee!" came suddenly in the deep tones of Vebba. "Thou hast also been taught other tongues. It is well. Thy father is wise with thee. When the priest cometh he shall talk with thee in Latin, for we understand him not very well."

"That's it!" thought Ned. "I spoke in English. What'll I do with Latin?"

Then he replied to Vebba:

"I will be glad to see the priest."

"We like him well," said Wiltna. "He is from Ireland, where there are many such as he, and he cometh here to teach against the old gods of the North. Most of the people swear by Wodin and Thor to this day. They change not easily."

Ned did not say anything aloud about their being heathen, but he blurted out in Norwegian:

"It is just so among us; we have ever so many preachers, and most of the people do not go by what they say any too well."

Vebba nodded, as if that were understood to be a matter of course everywhere, and the dinner went on.

"How they do drink beer!" thought Ned. "Nothing else. Every fellow uses his own sheath-knife and his fingers. Salt, but no pepper. Fair butter. Pretty good bread. This is goat mutton, is it? I like it pretty well. I guess there won't be any pie. Fingers were made before forks, as Uncle Jack says."

Nevertheless, the table manners were very good, and the food was abundant, fish, flesh, and fowl. The fish, especially, were all that could be asked for, and the poultry was wild game of several kinds.

Now and then a remark from Vebba or Wiltna came to Ned, politely, but he was left to Lars and the other youngsters most of the time. It was manifestly against the rules of good Norse society to ask too many questions of a guest. Strangers were welcome to come and go, and would simply be treated according to their degree while there. In fact, much of the respect with which Ned was now regarded by his new friends belonged to the fact that he had learned so much from his American fencing-master, – and he, too, had been French.

The dinner ended for the aristocratic part of the household, all of lower degree getting their provision afterward, or in other houses or outer rooms.

It could be seen that this day was of some unusual interest. Other men were arriving, one by one, and they came in armour, bringing weapons with them. While they were being welcomed by their hosts, Ned had a good opportunity for his proposed examination of the ornaments of the walls of the hall.

Great antlers, fastened here and there, served as hooks on which to hang things, and all were heavily loaded. There were helmets of many patterns; shields of all sorts; coats of mail; pieces of armour; coats of thick leather, with or without plates of metal before and behind; short-handled and long-handled battle-axes, with single-edged and double-edged blade-heads of curious shapes; spears, heavy and light, and swords, some of which seemed as if they were made for giants, for they were almost as long as a man. In one corner lay several bundles or sheaves of arrows, and there were plenty of bows.

"I don't believe I could bend some of those bows," thought Ned. "I'd rather have a revolver, anyhow, or a repeating rifle that would carry a mile. It would send a bullet through one of those coats of mail, or a shield, either."

He was called away from his tour of observation by a sudden sound of music. He whirled upon his feet to see, and there in front of the table, on the dais, sat four old men with harps, which they were tuning, getting ready to play. At the same time the hall was growing lighter. It had been somewhat dusky, but now a strong glare was reddening over the walls and the black rafters of the roof. The servants had brought in upright, three-legged cressets of iron-work. That is, at the top of the upright stem of each of these tripod cressets was an iron basket, into which fragments and knots of pine and fir were fed, as they burned. These were the chandeliers of the dwelling of Vebba, and they answered remarkably well.

"No candles to snuff," thought Ned, "but I'd rather have electric light, or coal gas, or kerosene. Hullo! They're going to work at the forge. I wonder if every man around here has a blacksmith shop in his own house."

Probably not, considering how very costly a thing an anvil and a lot of hammers and chisels and files might be. Only a rich chief could afford such an affair as was that forge in the house of Vebba. There was a charcoal fire upon its masonry now, however, and a brawny, grimy man in a leather coat was holding a piece of steel in it with tongs, while another man worked the bellows.