I watched them out of sight, and then went home, having learned that I was to be called out only in case of need.  And as I drew near the homestead I saw a light in the little ash grove that was behind the garth.[3] In the midst of the trees, where this light seemed to be, was our wooden image of Thor the Hammer Bearer, older than any of us could tell; and in front of this was what we used as his altar —–­four roughly-squared stones set together.  These stones were blue-black in colour, and whence they came I do not know, unless it was true that my forefathers brought them here when first Odin led his folk to the northern lands.  Always they had been the altar for my people, and my father held that we should have no luck away from them.

So it was strange to see a light in that place, where none would willingly go after dark, and half was I feared to go and see what it might mean.  But then it came into my mind that the enemy might be creeping on the house through the grove, and that therefore I must needs find out all about it.  So I went softly to the nearest trees, and crept from one to another, ever getting closer to the light; and I will say that I feared more that I might see some strange thing that was more than mortal than that I should see the leading foeman stealing towards me.  But presently it was plain that the light did not move as if men carried it, but it flickered as a little fire; and at last I saw that it burned on the altar stones, and that frightened me so that I almost fled.

Maybe I should have done so, but that I heard a voice that I knew; and so, looking once more, I saw a figure standing before the fire, and knew it.  It was little Withelm, and why a ten-year-old boy should be here I could not think.  But I called him softly, and he started somewhat, turning and trying to look through the darkness towards me, though he did not seem afraid.  There was a little fire of dry sticks burning on the stones, and the gaunt old statue seemed to look more terrible than ever in its red blaze.  One might have thought that the worn face writhed itself as the light played over it.

“It is I, Withelm,” I said softly, for the fear of the place was on me.  “We have sought you everywhere, and father would have wished you farewell.  What are you doing here?”

I came forward then, for it was plain that the child feared nothing, so that I was put to shame.  And as I came I asked once more what he was doing in this place.

“The jarl has surely forgotten the sacrifice to the Asir before the warriors went to fight, and they will be angry,” he answered very calmly.  “It is right that one should remember, and I feared for father, and therefore—–­”

He pointed to the altar, and I saw that he had laid his own untasted supper on the fire that he had lighted, and I had naught to say.  The thing was over-strange to me, who thought nothing of these things.  It was true that the host always sacrificed before sailing on the Viking path, but tonight had been urgent haste.