So said Neot; and Alfred sang again very wondrously, and as with some strange awe of the words he said.  Then to me it seemed that beside these the words of Odin were as nought.  They became as words of the wisdom of daily life, wrung from the lips of men forced to learn by hardness and defeat and loss; and then the words that Alfred had first sung were as those of one who knew more than Odin, and yet spoke of daily troubles and the wisdom that grows thereout.  But now the things that he sang must needs have come from wisdom beyond that of men—­wisdom beyond thought of mine.  And if so it seemed to me, I know not how the heart of the scald, who was more thoughtful and knew more than I, was stirred.

He rose up when Alfred ceased, and walked away down the hillside slowly, as in a dream, not looking at us; and the kindly Saxons smiled gently, and said nothing to rouse him.

It is in my mind that Harek’s eyes were wet, for he had lost somewhat—­his belief in things he held dearest and first of all—­and had as yet found nothing that should take its place.  There is nought harder than that to a man.

When he had passed out of hearing, I said: 

“Are there wiser things yet that you may sing?”

“Ay, and that you may learn, my son,” answered Neot.  “Listen.”

Then he spoke words from Holy Writ that I know now—­the words that speak of where wisdom may be found.  And he said thereafter, and truly, that it was not all.

Then I seemed to fear greatly.

“Not now, my king, not now,” I said; “it is enough.”

Then those two spoke to me out of their kind hearts.  Yet to me the old gods were very dear, and I clung to them.  Neither Neot nor the king said aught against them, being very wise, at that time.

Presently Harek came back, and his eyes were shining.

“Tell me more of this learning,” he said, casting himself down on the grass at Alfred’s feet.  “Scald have I been since I could sing, and nought have I heard like this.”

“Some day,” Neot said; “it is enough now that you should know what you have heard.”

So ended that strange song strife on Neot’s quiet hillside.  The sun set, and the fleecy mists came up from the little river below, and we sat silent till Alfred rose and said farewell, and we went to the guest house in the village.

Now I think that none will wonder that after we had been with Neot for those ten days, we were ready and willing to take on us the “prime signing,” as they called it, gladly and honestly.  So we were signed with the cross by Neot, and Alfred and Ethelnoth and Guerir were our witnesses.

I know that many scoff at this, because there are heathen who take this on them for gain, that they may trade more openly, or find profit among Christian folk, never meaning or caring to seek further into the faith that lies open, as it were, before them.  But it was not so with us, nor with many others.  We were free to serve our old gods if we would, but free also to learn the new faith; and to learn more of it for its own sake seemed good to us.