and Gloy began to think that his
position was awkward, to say the least of it; but Tom, whose
good-humour had been completely restored by Bill's clever manoeuvre,
said--

"You might just as well come along and have some breakfast with us, and
then we can arrange the campaign, and settle about ransom for the
captive."

There was no resisting such a suggestion, especially as it did not hint
at compromise of the "position."

The _Osprey_ came to land, and Gloy was permitted to go and resume his
garments, after giving his word of honour to respect the parole.

A white handkerchief was tied to a fishing-rod, which was planted in
the skeoe wall, and under that flag of truce the rival parties made
merry in lighting a fire, boiling water, and feasting heartily on the
good things which the Manse boys never failed to find in their ferdimet
basket.

CHAPTER V.

"THOU ART YOUNG AND OVER-BOLD."

As they ate they talked, you may be sure. The Lunda boys were
decidedly in favour of Yaspard's scheme--was there ever a boy who would
have objected to any such prank? They saw no harm in it whatever, only
Harry said--

"We must consult Fred Garson; we never go in for any big thing without
consulting Fred."

"Of course," Yaspard answered cheerfully. "He will let you read my
letter, and you will see by it that I expect he will have a finger in
the pie--not to take part in the war, but just to look on and kind of
see fair-play, you know, and umpire us when we fall out. He is a nice
fellow, people say."

"There is no one like him," said Harry, with that hearty enthusiasm
which all the lads of Lunda displayed when their chief was mentioned.

"What a pity it is," Bill chimed in, "that Eric and Svein are away,
and--too old now for this kind of thing."

"I am glad they are too old," replied Yaspard, "for that leaves our
number about equal."

"Four to three! you are in a minority," said Tom.

"There is Pirate," Yaspard answered, with a smile, and Pirate wagged
his tail, as much as to say, "I'm ready for any or all of you."

"Oh, if dogs are to be in it," laughed Tom, "there's Watchie, that
Svein rescued off a skerry; and there's old toothless Tory at the
Manse. But now, what about the hapless captive? What do you price him
at, Mr. Viking?"

"Twenty pebbles wet with the waves of Westervoe," was the instant
reply, at which the lads roared.

"We don't carry our beach about in our pockets," one of them said, as
soon