CHAPTER II.
"Now mama," "Now auntie," cried half a dozen little voices at once, as Mrs. Macdonald and her sister closed their books, and drew their chairs close to the fire, on the following evening.
"One moment to collect my thoughts, dear children," said Mrs. Macdonald, stirring the fire, and taking one of her shivering little nieces on her lap, whilst Alfred secured his aunt's knee, seeing that his accustomed place was occupied.
"The scene I shall describe to-night is laid in a hall, where tables are spread for a feast: the preparations are certainly not so costly as some we might see now-a-days; for instead of carpets, rushes are laid on the floor; the walls appear to be made of wood, interlaced with osiers; the windows are filled up, some with cloth, and others with lattice work, instead of glass; there are no grates or fire-places; nevertheless the table is covered with clean white linen, and each person has a separate drinking horn, a mess of pottage, a wooden knife and spoon; whilst on the wall are hung two or three wooden harps. The entertainment seems to have been interrupted by the entrance of a wild looking man, with whom he who appears to be a king is engaged in close combat. The king holds the robber by the hair of his head; but the latter contrives to plunge a dagger into the heart of his youthful opponent."
There was a long pause after Mrs. Macdonald had ceased speaking, and many were the whisperings between the young people.
"Give it up," cried Alfred, tired of the silence.
"It was a Saxon king, was it not, aunt?" asked Edward, a pale, quiet boy, the eldest of the group.
"Quite right, my dear; and as you have guessed so soon, perhaps you will try and puzzle me in your turn."
Edward blushed, and after a few minutes' hesitation, described the following picture:—