“I know she is, Olaf.  You’ve got Ragnar’s leavings.  Although he is so hot-headed, Ragnar is a wise dog in some ways, who can tell what he should not eat.  There, begone, you think me jealous of Iduna, as old women can be, but it’s not that, my dear.  Oh! you’ll learn before all is done, if you live.  Begone, begone!  I’ll tell you no more.  Hark, Ragnar is shouting to you,” and she pushed me away.

It was a long ride to where the bear was supposed to be.  At first as we went we talked a great deal, and made a wager as to which of the three of us should first drive a spear into the beast’s body so deep that the blade was hidden, but afterwards I grew silent.  Indeed, I was musing so much of Iduna and how the time drew near when once more I should see her sweet face, wondering also why Ragnar and Freydisa should think so ill of her who seemed a goddess rather than a woman, that I forgot all about the bear.  So completely did I forget it that when, being by nature very observant, I saw the slot of such a beast as we passed a certain birch wood, I did not think to connect it with that which we were hunting or to point it out to the others who were riding ahead of me.

At length we came to the sea, and there, sure enough, saw a great ice-floe, which now and again tilted as the surge caught its broad green flank.  When it tilted towards us we perceived a track worn deep into the ice by the paws of the prisoned bear as it had marched endlessly round.  Also we saw a big grinning skull, whereon sat a raven picking at the eye-holes, and some fragments of white fur.

“The bear is dead!” exclaimed Ragnar.  “Odin’s curse be on that club-footed fool who gave us this cold ride for nothing.”

“Yes, I suppose so,” said Steinar doubtfully.  “Don’t you think that it is dead, Olaf?”

“What is the good of asking Olaf?” broke in Ragnar, with a loud laugh.  “What does Olaf know about bears?  He has been asleep for the last half-hour dreaming of Athalbrand’s blue-eyed daughter; or perhaps he is making up another poem.”

“Olaf sees farther when he seems asleep than some of us do when we are awake,” answered Steinar hotly.

“Oh yes,” replied Ragnar.  “Sleeping or waking, Olaf is perfect in your eyes, for you’ve drunk the same milk, and that ties you tighter than a rope.  Wake up, now, brother Olaf, and tell us:  Is not the bear dead?”

Then I answered, “Why, of course, a bear is dead; see its skull, also pieces of its hide?”

“There!” exclaimed Ragnar.  “Our family prophet has settled the matter.  Let us go home.”

“Olaf said that a bear was dead,” answered Steinar, hesitating.

Ragnar, who had already swung himself round in his quick fashion, spoke back over his shoulder: 

“Isn’t that enough for you?  Do you want to hunt a skull or the raven sitting on it?  Or is this, perchance, one of Olaf’s riddles?  If so, I am too cold to guess riddles just now.”