n were tar barrels.

"Firewood for a long sea passage," I said. "And sledges and wagon
for a land journey at its end. One would say that the ship was
flitting a whole family to Iceland--the new land to which men go
today."

"Aye, I have heard of that land, and of families who go there,"
said Bertric. "That seems to explain some things, but not why the
ship is adrift."

"What will be in the house yonder?" asked Dalfin.

"Maybe it was built for the women of the family," I said.

Now, this was so likely that for the moment the wonder passed. We
had to tend ship while the breeze held off if we would do anything
with her presently. She was not of the largest build, but both
Bertric and I knew that it would be all that we three could do, one
of us being a landsman moreover, to handle her if it came on to
blow at all freshly.

Now, I would not have it thought that we three castaways were much
in the mind to puzzle over the ship which we had gained, almost
against hope. It was enough for us to rejoice in the feel of firm
planks under our feet once more, and to find naught terrible, but
promise of all we needed, while the strain of the longboat voyage
with its ever-present peril was over. Dalfin broke that first short
silence.

"I am desperately hungry," he said. "Surely there will be food on
board?"

The breeze freshened up again, and the sail flattened against the
mast with a clap, and the ship quivered. It was naught to us, but
it made the landsman start and look upward as if expecting to see
somewhat carried away, while I laughed at him.

"Work first and food afterward," said Bertric. "We must tend ship
while wind is little, if at all. Why, we are not more than half
starved yet, for barley bread stands by one nobly."

"Give me somewhat to do, and maybe I shall forget the hunger,"
Dalfin answered ruefully. "Which of you two is to be captain?"

"Bertric," I said at once. "That is his place by all right."

"It is an old trade of mine," the Saxon said quietly "Well, it is
to be seen if I can justify my sayings of myself."

The sun had set by the time we boarded the ship, but we had not
noticed it in the bright twilight. The short northern night would
be no darker than now until the sunrising, for we were close on
midsummer, and there was every sign of settled fair weather after
the gale. Even now the last breeze was dying away, leaving the sea
bright and unruffled under the glow in the northwest sky. It was
on