Over the chunk of bread he was raising to his mouth, the chief regarded his guest critically.

“There is an old saying,” he observed, “that when it happens to a man that his head is sleepy in the day-time, it is because his mind is not in his body but wanders out in the world in another shape.  In what land, and in what form, do the Norman’s thoughts travel?”

After a moment, Robert the Fearless rose to his feet and bowed low.  “They have returned to rest contentedly in an unnamed land,” he answered; “and they wear the shape of thanks to Leif Ericsson for his many favors.  I drink to the Lucky One’s health, and to his undying fame!  Skoal!”

As he set down his horn after the toast, the Norman’s glance happened to encounter a glance from the shield-maiden, who was passing.  Taking another horn from the thrall, he bowed again, with proverbial French gallantry; then quaffed off the second measure of ale to the honor of Helga the Fair.

Leif turned in time to catch a rather unusual expression on the maiden’s face, though her courtesy was a model of formality.  He held out his hand peremptorily.

“Come hither, kinswoman, and tell me how matters go with you,” he commanded.  “It is to be hoped that Tyrker has not lost you out of his mind, as I have done during these last weeks.  How are you entertaining yourself this morning, while he is absent?”

Helga sped a guilty thought to a certain green nook on the river bluff; and winged heavenward a prayer of thanks that she had put off until afternoon her daily pilgrimage to the beloved shrine.

She answered readily, “I have entertained myself very poorly so far, kinsman, for I have been doing such woman’s-work as Thorhild commends.  I have been in your sleeping-house, sewing upon the skin curtains that are to make the fourth wall of my chamber.”

Leif glanced at the Norman with a dry smile.  “Chamber!” he commented.  “Learn from this, Robert of Normandy, how a Norse maiden regards a stall!  Yet, whatever hostile thing attacks us, a Norman lady in her bower would be no safer.  Tyrker’s sleeping-place, and mine and Valbrand’s, lie between the house-door and the chamber of Helga, Gilli’s daughter.”  He freed the girl’s hand, though he still held her with his eyes.  “Whither do you betake yourself now?” he demanded.  “Long rambles are unsafe in an unknown country.”

In her perfect composure, Helga even laughed; a silvery peal that sent a thrill of pleasure through the brooding old trees.

“By my knife, kinsman, you take your responsibility heavily, now that you have remembered it at all!” she retorted.  “I do not go far; only a little way up the river, where grow the rushes of which I wish to make baskets.”

The chief released her then; and soon she disappeared among the trees.

One by one, the men finished their meal and drifted back to their various employments.  The hammers began again their merry tattoo; and the wrangling voices of dice-throwers replaced the shouts of the bathers.  Except for these, however, the place was still.  The sun shone hotly, and the trees appeared to nap in the drowsy air.