ing in speechless astonishment at the
hilt which remained in his hands.

"My good sword!" he exclaimed, in a tone of deep despondency.

At this Erling burst into a hearty fit of laughter. "My bad sword, thou
must mean," said he. "How often have I told thee, Glumm, that there was
a flaw in the metal! I have advised thee more than once to prove the
blade, and now that thou hast consented to do so, behold the result!
But be not so cast down, man; I have forged another blade specially for
thyself, friend Glumm, but did not think to give it thee so soon."

Glumm stood abashed, and had not a word to reply. Fortunately his
feelings were relieved by the attention of the whole party being
attracted at that moment to the figure of a man on the opposite side of
the valley, who ran towards them at full speed, leaping over almost
every obstacle that presented itself in his course. In a few minutes he
rushed, panting, into the midst of the throng, and presented a baton or
short piece of wood to Ulf, at the same time exclaiming: "Haste! King
Harald holds a Thing at the Springs. Speed on the token."

The import of this message and signal were well understood by the men of
Horlingdal. When an assembly or Thing was to be convened for discussing
civil matters a wooden truncheon was sent round from place to place by
fleet messengers, each of whom ran a certain distance, and then
delivered over his "message-token" to another runner, who carried it
forward to a third, and so on. In this manner the whole country could
be roused and its chief men assembled in a comparatively short time.
When, however, the Thing was to be assembled for the discussion of
affairs pertaining to war, an arrow split in four parts was the
message-token. When the split arrow passed through the land men were
expected to assemble armed to the teeth, but when the baton went round
it was intended that they should meet without the full panoply of war.

As soon as the token was presented, Ulf looked about for a fleet man to
carry forward the message. Several of the youths at once stepped
forward offering their services. Foremost among them was a stout,
deep-chested active boy of about twelve years of age, with long flaxen
curls, a round sunburnt face, a bold yet not forward look, a merry
smile, and a pair of laughing blue eyes. This was Erling's little
brother Alric--a lad whose bosom was kept in a perpetual state of stormy
agitation by the conflict carried