"Here I am, father."

"Hast fed well, boy?"

"Aye, famously," answered Alric, wiping his mouth and tightening his
belt.

"Take the war-token, my son, and see that thou speed it well. Let it
not fail for want of a messenger. If need be, go all the round thyself,
and rest not as long as wind and limb hold out. Thy fighting days have
begun early," he added in a softer tone, as he passed his large hand
gently over the fair head of the boy, "perchance they will end early.
But, whatever betide, Alric, quit thee like a man--as thou art truly in
heart if not in limb."

Such words from one who was not at any time lavish of praise might, a
short time before, have caused the boy to hold up his head proudly, but
the last year of his life had been fraught with many lessons. He
listened with a heaving breast and beating heart indeed, but with his
head bent modestly down, while on his flushed countenance there was a
bright expression, and on his lips a glad smile which spoke volumes.
His father felt assured, as he looked at him, that he would never bring
discredit on his name.

"Ye know the course," said Haldor; "away!"

In another minute Alric was running at full speed up the glen with the
war-token in his hand. His path was rugged, his race was wild, and its
results were striking. He merely shouted as he passed the windows of
the cottages low down in the dale, knowing that the men there would be
roused by others near at hand; but farther on, where the cottages were
more scattered, he opened the door of each and showed the token,
uttering a word or two of explanation, during the brief moment he stayed
to swallow a mouthful of water or to tighten his belt.

At first his course lay along the banks of the river, every rock and
shrub of which he knew. Farther on he left the stream on the right, and
struck into the mountains just as the sun went down.

High up on the fells a little cottage stood perched on a cliff. It was
one of the "saeters" or mountain dairies where the cattle were pastured
in summer long ago--just as they are at the present day. Alric ran up
the steep face of the hill, doubled swiftly round the corner of the
enclosure, burst open the door, and, springing in, held up the token,
while he wiped the streaming perspiration from his face.

A man and his wife, with three stout sons and a comely daughter, were
seated on a low bench eating their supper of thickened milk.

"The war-token!" exclaimed the men