Sigurd leaped up and pulled his companion to her feet, with a cheer.  “They would not sing like that if they bore heavy tidings,” he assured her.  “Do not spoil matters now by a lack of caution.  Stay here while I run forward to meet them.”

Then, for the first time since the failing of the blow, Helga recalled with a flush of shame that she was a dauntless shield-maiden; and she took hold of her composure with both hands.

Singing and shouting, the rescuers came out of the woods at last and into the circle of firelight.  On the shoulders of the two leaders sat Tyrker, his little eyes dancing with excitement, his thin voice squeaking comically in his attempts to pipe a German drinking-song, as he beat time with some little dark object which he was flourishing.  The chief walked behind him with a face that was not only clear but almost radiant.  Still further back came Robert Sans-Peur, quite un-harmed and vigorous.  In the name of wonder, what had happened to them?

“It is the strangest thing that ever occurred.”—­“It is a miracle of God!”—­“Growing as thick as crow-berries.” —­” Such juice will make the finest wine in the world!”—­“Biorn Herjulfsson will dash out his brains with envy.”—­” Was ever such luck as the Lucky One’s?” were the disjointed phrases that passed between them.

Waving the dark object over his head, Tyrker struggled down from his perch.  “Wunderschoen!  As in the Fatherland growing!  And I went not much further than you,—­only a step, and there—­like snakes in the trees gecoiled!  So solid the bunches, that them your fingers you cannot between pry.  The beautiful grapes!  Foster-son, for this day’s work I ask you to name this country Vine-land.  Such a miracle requires that.  Ach, it makes of me a child again!”

He tossed the fruit into their eager hands and began all at once to wipe his eyes industriously upon the skirt of his robe.  Swiftly the bunch passed from hand to hand.  Each time a juicy ball found its way down a thirsty throat a great murmur of wonder and delight arose.

“There is more where this came from?  Plenty, you say?” they inquired, anxiously.  And on being assured that hillside after hillside was covered with bending wreaths of purple clusters, their rapture knew no bounds.

Ale was all well enough; but wine—!  Not only would they live like kings through the winter, but in the spring they would take back such a treasure as would make their home-people stare even more than at the timber and the wheat.

“You need have no fear concerning Leif’s temper,” Sigurd whispered in Helga’s ear.  “This discovery makes his mission as sure of success as though it were already accomplished.  No man’s nose rises at timber, but two such miracles as wheat and grapes, planted without hands and growing without care,—­these can be nothing less than tokens of divine favor!  The Lucky One would spare his deadliest foe tonight.”