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time since their nostrils had known such a cheering smell. Many of them exchanged stories of the last occasions on which they had been present at so tasty a meal, and they all agreed that their voyage to the lands of the west had begun promisingly. Then they began to eat so that the juice of the meat ran over their beards.
    By this time Orm had regained his senses, but he was still sick and dizzy, and when he came ashore with the others, it was all he could do to keep on his legs. He sat down and held his head between his hands and made no reply to the words that were addressed to him. But after a while, when he had vomited and drunk water, he felt better, and when he smelt the odor of the frying meat, he raised his head like a man who has just waked up, and looked at the men around him. The man who was sitting nearest to him grinned in a friendly way and cut off a bit of his meat and offered it to him.
    “Take this and eat it,” he said. “You never tasted better in your life.”
    “I know its quality,” replied Orm. “I provided it.”
    He took the meat and held it between his fingers without eating it. He looked thoughtfully round the circle, at each man in turn, and then said: “Where is the man I hit? Is he dead?”
    “He is dead,” replied his neighbor, “but no one here stands to avenge him, and you are to row in his stead. His oar lies in front of mine, so it will be well that you and I should be friends. My name is Toke; what is yours?”
    Orm told him his name and asked him: “The man I killed— was he a good fighter?”
    “He was, as you observed, somewhat slow of movement,” replied Toke, “and he was not so handy with a sword as I am myself. But that would be asking a lot of a man, for I am one of the finest swordsmen in our company. Still, he was a strong man, and steadfast and of a good name; he was called Ale, and his father sows twelve bushels of rye, and he had been to sea twice already. If you can row as well as he did, you are no mean oarsman.”
    When Orm heard this, it seemed to cheer his spirits, and he began to eat. But after a few minutes he asked: “Who was it who struck me down?”
    Krok was sitting a short way from him and heard his question. He laughed and raised his ax, finished his mouthful, and said: “This is the maid who kissed you. Had she bitten you, you would not have asked her name.”
    Orm gazed at Krok with rounded eyes that looked as though they had never blinked, and then said with a sigh: “I had no helmet and was breathless from running; otherwise it might have gone differently.”
    “You are a conceited puppy, Skanian,” said Krok, “and fancy yourself a soldier. But you are yet young and lack a soldier’s prudence. For prudent men do not forget their helmets when they run out after sheep; nay, not even when their own wives are stolen from them. But you seem to be a man whom Fortune smiles on, and it may be that you will bring us all into her good favor. We have already seen three manifestations of her love for you. Firstly, you slipped on the rocks as two spears were flying toward you; then Ale, whom you slew, has no kinsman or close comrade among us who is bound to avenge him; and thirdly, I did not kill you, because I wished to have an oarsman to replace him. Therefore I believe you to be a man of great good luck, who can thereby be of use to us; wherefore I now give you the freedom of our company, provided only that you agree to take Ale’s oar.”
    They all thought that Krok had spoken well. Orm munched his meat reflectively; then he said: “I accept the freedom you offer me; nor do I think I need feel ashamed to do so, though you stole my sheep. But I will not row as a slave, for I am of noble blood; and though I am young, yet I hold myself to be a good soldier, for I slew Ale, and he was one. I therefore claim back my sword.”
    This provoked a long and complicated discussion. Some of them regarded Orm’s demand as altogether unreasonable and said