milk pail, and stood for a few
minutes with her hands folded and her eyes fixed demurely on her lover.

Erling had thrown off his jerkin and rolled up the sleeves of his shirt
of coarse homespun fabric, in order to give his thick muscular arms
unimpeded play in wielding the hammer and turning the mass of glowing
metal on the anvil. He wore woollen breeches and hose, both of which
had been fashioned by the fingers of his buxom mother, Herfrida. A pair
of neatly formed shoes of untanned hide--his own workmanship--protected
his feet, and his waist was encircled by a broad leathern girdle, from
one side of which depended a short hunting-knife, and from the other a
flap, with a slit in it, to support his sword. The latter weapon--a
heavy double-edged blade--stood leaning against the forge chimney, along
with a huge battle-axe, within reach of his hand. The collar of his
shirt was thrown well back, exposing to view a neck and chest whose
muscles denoted extraordinary power, and the whiteness of which
contrasted strikingly with the ruddy hue of his deeply bronzed
countenance.

The young giant appeared to take pleasure in the exercise of his
superabundant strength, for, instead of using the ordinary single-hand
hammer with which other men were wont to bend the glowing metal to their
will, he wielded the great forehammer, and did it as easily, too, with
his right arm as if it had been but a wooden mallet. The mass of metal
at which he wrought was thick and unyielding, but under his heavy blows
it began to assume the form of an axe--a fact which Hilda noticed with a
somewhat saddened brow. Erling's long hair, rolling as it did down his
shoulders, frequently straggled over his face and interfered slightly
with his vision, whereupon he shook it back with an impatient toss, as a
lion might shake his mane, while he toiled with violent energy at his
work. To look at him, one might suppose that Vulcan himself had
condescended to visit the abodes of men, and work in a terrestrial
smithy!

During one of the tosses with which he threw back his hair, Erling
chanced to raise his eyes, which instantly fell upon Hilda. A glad
smile beamed on his flushed face, and he let the hammer fall with a
ringing clatter on the anvil, exclaiming:

"Ha! good morrow to thee, Hilda! Thou comest with stealthy tread, like
the midnight marauder. What news? Does all go well at Ulfstede? But
why so sad, Hilda? Thy countenance is not wont to quarr