The woods continued to be full of game, and the grass on the plains remained almost unwithered.  There was only enough frost in the air to make breathing it a tonic, a tingling delight.  Not even a crust formed over the placid bay; and the waters of the river went leaping and dancing through the sunshine in airy defiance of the ice-king’s fetters.

On the last day of December, autumn employments were still in full swing.  The last rays that the setting sun sent to the bay through the leafless branches, fell upon a group of fishermen returning with a load of shining fish hanging from their spears.  From the grove came the ringing music of axes, the rending shriek of a doomed tree, the crackling, crashing thunder of its fall.  Down at the foot of the bluff a boat was thrusting its snout into the soft bank, that an exploring party might land after a three days’ journey along the winding highway of the river.

In the bow stood the chief, and behind him were Sigurd Haraldsson and Rolf; and behind them, Robert the Norman.

With a great racket of joyous hallooing for the benefit of their camp-mates, the crew leaped ashore.  While some stayed to load themselves with the skins and game stowed under the seats, the rest began to climb the trail, laughing and talking noisily.

Sigurd leaped along between Rolf and the Norman, a hand on the shoulder of each, shaking them when their sentiments were unsatisfactory.

“How long am I to wait for you to have a free half-day?” he demanded of his friend from Normandy.  “It was over a week before we left that I found those bear tracks, and still am I putting off the sport that you may have a share in it.  Is it Leif’s intention to keep you dangling at his heels forever, like a tassel on an apron?  Certainly he cannot think that there is danger of your talking love to Helga while you are fighting bears.”

“Though once I would have said that wooing a shield-maiden was a very similar sport,” Rolf added, pleasantly.

Whereupon Sigurd shook them both, with an energy that sent all three sprawling on their faces, to the huge amusement of those who came after.

They scrambled to their feet in front of a tall sumach bush that grew half-way up the slope.  Alwin’s eyes fell upon a narrow ledge-like path that showed plainly between the bare branches, and he nodded toward it with a smile.

“Missing bear-fights is certainly undesirable,” he said.  “But it was not long ago—­and on this same bank—­that I anticipated a worse fate than that.”

“Nevertheless, I have never seen so much service exacted from a king’s page,” Sigurd growled, as he bent to brush the dirt from his knees.

But Rolf shook his head with quiet decision.

“One need never tell me that it is only to keep you from saying fine things to Helga that the chief demands your constant presence.  It is because he has come to take comfort in your superior intelligence, and to value your attendance above ours.  There, he is calling you now!  I foretell that you will not fight bears to-morrow either.”  He gave the broad back a hearty slap that was at the same time a friendly shove forward.