Two are adversaries;
The tongue is the bane of the head;
Under every cloak
I expect a hand.
Ha'vama'l


For a while the road of the little party ran beside the brawling Nid,
whose shores were astir with activity and life. Here was a school of
splashing swimmers; there, a fleet of fishing-smacks; a provision-ship
loading for a cruise as consort to one of the great war vessels. They
passed King Olaf's ship-sheds, where fine new boats were building, and
one brilliantly-painted cruiser stood on the rollers all ready for the
launching. Along the opposite bank lay the camps of visiting Vikings,
with their long ships'-boats floating before them.

The road bent to the right, and wound along between the high fences that
shut in the old farm-like manors. Ail the houses had their gable-ends
faced to the front, like soldiers at drill, and little more than their
tarred roofs showed among the trees. Most of the commons between the
estates were enlivened by groups of gaily-ornamented booths. Many of
them were traders' stalls; but in one, over the heads of the laughing
crowd, Alwin caught a glimpse of an acrobat and a clumsy dancing bear;
while in another, a minstrel sang plaintive love ballads to a throng
that listened as breathlessly as leaves for a wind. The wild sweet
harp-music floated out and went with them far across the plain.

The road swerved still farther to the right, entering a wood of spicy
evergreens and silver-stemmed birches. In its green depths song-birds