plenished now and again from
the generous hearth. But the flicker of the great fire was
manifest to remotest corners, and prevailed beyond the limits of
the weaker lights.

Little Rol grew tired of his puppy, dropped it incontinently, and
made an onslaught on Tyr, the old wolf-hound, who basked dozing,
whimpering and twitching in his hunting dreams. Prone went Rol
beside Tyr, his young arms round the shaggy neck, his curls
against the black jowl. Tyr gave a perfunctory lick, and stretched
with a sleepy sigh. Rol growled and rolled and shoved invitingly,
but could only gain from the old dog placid toleration and a
half-observant blink. "Take that then!" said Rol, indignant at this
ignoring of his advances, and sent the puppy sprawling against the
dignity that disdained him as playmate. The dog took no notice,
and the child wandered off to find amusement elsewhere.

The baskets of white eider feathers caught his eye far off in a
distant corner. He slipped under the table, and crept along on
all-fours, the ordinary common-place custom of walking down a room
upright not being to his fancy. When close to the women he lay
still for a moment watching, with his elbows on the floor and his
chin in his palms. One of the women seeing him nodded and smiled,
and presently he crept out behind her skirts and passed, hardly
noticed, from one to another, till he found opportunity to possess
himself of a large handful of feathers. With these he traversed
the length of the room, under the table again, and emerged near
the spinners. At the feet of the youngest he curled himself round,
sheltered by her knees from the observation of the others, and
disarmed her of interference by secretly displaying his handful
with a confiding smile. A dubious nod satisfied him, and presently
he started on the play he had devised. He took a tuft of the white
down, and gently shook it free of his fingers close to the whirl
of the wheel. The wind of the swift motion took it, spun it round
and round in widening circles, till it floated above like a slow
white moth. Little Rol's eyes danced, and the row of his small
teeth shone in a silent laugh of delight. Another and another of
the white tufts was sent whirling round like a winged thing in a
spider's web, and floating clear at last. Presently the handful
failed.

Rol sprawled forward to survey the room, and contemplate another
journey under the table. His shoulder, thrusting forward, checked
the wheel f