ting down his history. Wait
until the records are finished; then it will be time to act."

He pulled his comrade down on the bunk beside him, and held him there
until the sleep of utter weariness had taken him into its safe-keeping.

CHAPTER XXVIII

"THINGS THAT ARE FATED"

The fir withers
That stands on a fenced field;
Neither bark nor foliage shelters it;
Thus is a man
Whom no one loves;
Why should he live long?
Ha'vama'l

In a chain of lengthening golden days and softening silver nights, the
spring came.

The instinct which brings animals out of their dens to roam in the
sunlight, awoke in the Norsemen's breasts and made them restless in the
midst of plenty. The instinct which sets birds to nest-building amid the
young green, turned the rovers' hearts toward their ice-bound home.

With glad applause, they hailed Leif's proclamation from under the
budding maple-tree:

"Four weeks from to-day, if the season continues to be a forward one, it
is likely that the pack-ice around the mouth of Eric's Fiord will be
sufficiently broken to let us through. Four weeks from to-day, God
willing, we will set sail for Greenland."

The camp entered upon a period of bustling activity. Carpenters fell to
work on the re-furnishing of the ship, until all the quiet bay echoed
with their pounding. With infinite labor, the great logs were floated
down the river and hauled on board. Porters toiled to and from the shore
with loads of grain-sacks and wine-kegs. The packers in the store-houses
buzzed over the wealth of fruit like so many bees. Even Kark the
Indolent caught the infection, and clashed his pots and kettles with
joyful energy.

"A little time more, and the death-wolf shall claim his due," he sang
over his work. "Only a little time more, and the death-wolf shall claim
his due!"

On the morning of the last day in Vinland, Robert the Norman wrote the
last word in the grotesque exploring record and laid down the brush
forever.

"That ends the matter, chief," he said slowly.

They sat in the larger of the sleeping-houses, as they had sat on that
December night when the work was begun. But now a flood of yellow
sunlight fell through the open door, and a flowering pink bush flattened
its sweet face against the window.

Leif regarded him with dull, absent eyes. "Yes, it is ended," he said,
reluctantly; and was silent for so long that the young man looked up in
surprise.

An o