Gradually the shouts merged into a persistent roar.  The roar swelled into a thunder of excitement.  Alwin paused, in the act of ladling curds into the line of wooden bowls, and listened smiling.

“Now they are swimming a race back to the bank.  I wonder whom they will drive out of the water today.”  For that was the established penalty for being last in the race.

The thunder of cheering reached its height; then suddenly it split into scattered jeers and hootings.  There was a crackling of dead leaves, a rustling of bushes, and Sigurd appeared, dripping and breathless.  Panting and spent, he threw himself on the ground, his shining white body making a cameo against the mossy green.

“You!  You beaten!” Alwin cried in surprise.

Sigurd gave a breathless laugh.  “Even I myself.  Certainly it is a time of wonders!” He looked eagerly at the spread table, and held up his hand.  “And I am starving besides!  Toss me something, I beg of you.”  When Alwin had thrown him a chunk of crusty bread, he consented to go on and explain his defeat between mouthfuls.  “It was because my shoulder is still heavy in its movements.  I broke it wrestling last winter.  I forgot about it when I entered the race.”

“That is a pity,” said Alwin.  But he spoke absently, for he was thinking that here might be an opening for something he wished to say.  He filled several bowls in silence, Sigurd watching over his bread with twinkling eyes.  After a while Alwin went on cautiously:  “This mishap is a light one, however.  I hope it is not likely that you will have to endure a heavier disappointment when Leif arrives today.”

Back went Sigurd’s yellow head in a peal of laughter.  “I would have wagered it!” he shouted.  “I would have wagered my horse that you were aiming at that!  So every speech ends, no matter where it begins.  I talk with Helga of what we did as children and she answers:  ’You remember much, foster-brother; do not forget the sternness of Leif’s temper.’  I enter into conversation with Rolf, and he returns, ’Yes, it is likely that Leif has got greater favor than ever with King Olaf.  I cannot be altogether certain that he will shelter one who has broken Olaf’s laws.’  Tyrker advises me,—­by Saint Michael, you are all as wise as Mimir!” He flung the crust from him with a gesture of good-humored impatience.  “Do you all think I am a fool, that I do not know what I am doing?  It appears that you forget that Leif Ericsson is my foster-father.”

Alwin deposited the last curd in the last bowl, and stood licking the horn-spoon, and looking doubtfully at the other.  “Do you mean by that that you have a right to give him orders?  I have heard that in the North a foster-son does not treat his foster-father as his superior, but as his servant.  Yet Leif did not look to be—­”