good Grendel, I want to see."

Now I was glad to be kept off my own fierce thoughts for a little, and
so answered him back, wondering at the name he gave me, and at his request.

"So--I am Grendel, am I?"

"Aye," said the urchin, "Dudda Collier ran into village in the night,
saying that you had come out of the fen, all fire from head to foot, and
so he fled. But I came to see."

"Where is the collier then?"

"He dare not come back, he says, without the priest, and has gone to get
the hermit. So the other folk bided till he came too."

"Were not you afraid of me?"

"Maybe I was feared at first--but I would see you spit fire before the
holy man drives you away. So I looked in through a crack, and saw you
asleep. Then I feared not, and bided your waking for a little time."

"What is your name, brave urchin?' I asked, for I was pleased with the
child and his fearlessness.

"Turkil," he said.

"Well, Turkil--I am not Grendel. He fled when I came in here."

"Did you beat him?" asked the boy, with a sort of disappointment.

"Nay; but he disappeared when the hot coals went out," I said. "And now
I am hungry, can you find me aught to eat?" and, indeed, rested as I was
with the long sleep, I had waked sound in mind and body again, and
longed for food, and I think that finding this strange child here to
turn my thoughts into a wholesome channel, when first they began to stir
in me, was a mercy that I must ever be thankful for.

Turkil got up solemnly and went to the hearth. Thence he took an iron
cauldron, and hoisted it on the great round of tree trunk that served as
table in the midst of the hut.

"Dudda Collier left his supper when he fled. Wherefore if we eat it he
will think Grendel got it--and no blame to us," remarked the boy,
chuckling.

And when I thought how I had not a copper sceatta left me in the world,
I stopped before saying that I would pay him when he returned, and so
laughed back at the boy and fell to.

When we had finished, the cauldron, which had been full of roe deer
venison, was empty, and Turkil and I laughed at one another over it.

"Grendel or no Grendel," said the urchin, "Dudda will ask nought of his
supper."

"Why not?"

"By reason of what it was made of."

Then I remembered that a thrall might by no means slay the deer, and
that he would surely be in fear when he knew that one had found him out.
So I said to the boy:

"Grendel ate it, doubtless. Nor you nor I know what was i