in his arms the second night,
just like a child. My good Eddi was a little out of his senses, and
imagined himself teaching a York choir to sing. Even so, he was
beautifully patient with them.

'I heard Meon whisper, "If this keeps up we shall go to our Gods. I
wonder what Wotan will say to me. He must know I don't believe in him.
On the other hand, I can't do what Ethelwalch finds so easy--curry
favour with your God at the last minute, in the hope of being saved--as
you call it. How do you advise, Bishop?"

'"My dear man," I said, "if that is your honest belief, I take it upon
myself to say you had far better not curry favour with any God. But if
it's only your Jutish pride that holds you back, lift me up, and I'll
baptize you even now."

'"Lie still," said Meon. "I could judge better if I were in my own hall.
But to desert one's fathers' Gods--even if one doesn't believe in
them--in the middle of a gale, isn't quite--What would you do yourself?"

'I was lying in his arms, kept alive by the warmth of his big, steady
heart. It did not seem to me the time or the place for subtle arguments,
so I answered, "No, I certainly should not desert my God." I don't see
even now what else I could have said.

'"Thank you. I'll remember that, if I live," said Meon, and I must have
drifted back to my dreams about Northumbria and beautiful France, for it
was broad daylight when I heard him calling on Wotan in that high,
shaking heathen yell that I detest so.

'"Lie quiet. I'm giving Wotan his chance," he said. Our dear Eddi ambled
up, still beating time to his imaginary choir.

'"Yes. Call on your Gods," he cried, "and see what gifts they will send
you. They are gone on a journey, or they are hunting."

'I assure you the words were not out of his mouth when old Padda shot
from the top of a cold wrinkled swell, drove himself over the weedy
ledge, and landed fair in our laps with a rock-cod between his teeth. I
could not help smiling at Eddi's face. "A miracle! A miracle!" he cried,
and kneeled down to clean the cod.

'"You've been a long time winding us, my son," said Meon. "Now
fish--fish for all our lives. We're starving, Padda."

'The old fellow flung himself quivering like a salmon backward into the
boil of the currents round the rocks, and Meon said, "We're safe. I'll
send him to fetch help when this wind drops. Eat and be thankful."

'I never tasted anything so good as those rock-codlings we took from
Padda's mouth an