“That’s for you to find out, Halcro,” said he.  “You see it is a sort of charm, or amulet.  The old Scandinavian vikings used to carry such things about with them, in the belief that by so doing they would be protected from all personal harm.  Our Jarl Haffling, I suppose, wore this same amulet at his neck to ensure his safety through the perils of the battle and the storm.  No doubt he believed that the possession of such a talisman gave him a charmed existence.  The sea could not drown him, sword could not wound him, fortune favoured him, so long as he wore this little stone on his breast.”

“And yet, sir, the Jarl Haffling came to his grave in the Bay of Skaill,” I said incredulously.

“Ay, lad, so he did, so he did.  But we must suppose that Odin, the god of the Norsemen, had thought it time to reward him by calling him off from his earthly battles to the Halls of Valhalla.”

Captain Gordon here approached us, and whilst he and Mr. Drever were bidding each other goodnight, I stood looking into the fire, meditating upon the strange thing my schoolmaster had told me.  I put the little stone securely into my breast pocket, feeling the new responsibility I bore in being guarded by such a mysterious influence; for I did not doubt that the protection given by my talisman to the dead viking would now be extended to myself.

Grace Drever had some instructions to give me regarding the taking away of her cat, and when I left her my sister Jessie and Captain Gordon were already walking together down the brae.  I soon overtook them.  Jessie was questioning the captain about his ship.

“Father was saying she’s a very good ship,” said she; “but I think mysel’ that her masts are ower high; and if ye were taken in one o’ the spring gales off the Orkneys you’d find that they are, Mr. Gordon.”

“Did the pilot say that our masts are too high, Miss Ericson?” asked the captain.

“Nay, I was thinkin’ it mysel’,” said Jessie, “when I saw the barque lying near the Holms.  High masts are good, I will allow, for carrying a heap o’ sails, but our whaling ships never have masts so high as yours.”

“Well, but you must understand,” urged the sailor, “that we are not bound for Davis Straits as your whalers are that went out today.  In the tropical seas, where there is often a calm lasting several days, we need high masts and widespread sails, Miss Ericson.”

“Yes, I ken that well enough,” argued Jessie.  “But I have seen many a good ship wrecked on the Black Craigs in the spring time, and I can aye tell when a ship will come back safe to Stromness.”

Captain Gordon seemed to treat my sister’s criticism of his ship very lightly; but as events turned out, her warning was perhaps justifiable.

When we turned into the Anchor Close, we found my father standing at the house door, smoking his pipe and looking out for us.

“Where has the lad been?” he asked of Jessie before he greeted the captain.