At last we came to a long spur of high ground that runs out into the fen, about midway between Bridgwater and Taunton; and there is the village they call Lyng, where we most hoped to hear good news.  The day was drawing to sunset, and we would hasten; so Heregar went one way and I another, each to distant cottages that we saw.  The lane down which I and my two comrades rode seemed to lead fenwards, and it was little more than a track, deep in snow and tree bordered.  The cottage we sought was a quarter mile away when we left the thane, and as we drew near it we saw an old woman walking away from it, and from us also.  She did not seem to hear us when we called to her; and, indeed, such was the fear of Danes that often folk would fly when they saw us, and the faster because we called, not waiting to find out who we were.

Then from out of the cottage came another old woman, who hobbled into the track and looked after the first, shaking her fist after her, and then following her slowly, looking on the ground.  She never glanced our way at all, and our horses made no noise to speak of in the snow.

We drew up to her, and then I saw that she had a hammer in her right hand and a broad-headed nail in her left.  I wondered idly what she was about with these things, when she stooped and began to hammer the nail into the iron-hard ground, and I could hear her muttering some words quickly.

I reined up to watch her, puzzled, and said to Harek: 

“Here is wizardry; or else what is the old dame about?”

“It is somewhat new to me,” the scald said, looking on with much interest; for if he could learn a new spell or charm, he was pleased as if he had found a treasure.

Then I saw that she was driving the nail into a footprint.  There were three tracks only along the snow—­two going away from the cottage and one returning.  That which went and returned was made by this old woman, as one might see from her last steps, which made a fourth track from the door.

“She is hammering the nail into her own footprint,” I said, noting this.

Now she sang in a cracked voice, hammering savagely the while; and now and then she shook her fist or hammer, or both, towards where the other old dame had gone out of sight round a bend of the lane.

Then she put her hand to her back and straightened herself with a sort of groan, as old dames will, and slowly turned round and saw us.

Whereat she screamed, and hurled the hammer at Kolgrim, who was laughing at her, cursing us valiantly for Danes and thieves, and nearly hitting him.

“Peace, good mother,” I said; “we are not Danes.  Here is earnest thereof,” and I threw her a sceatta from my pouch.

She clutched it from the ice pool where it fell, and stared at us, muttering yet.  Then Harek spoke to her.

“Mother, I have much skill in spells, but I know not what is wrought with hammer and nail and footprint.  I would fain learn.”