Atven was so astonished that he stared at the child-figure as if turned into a statue himself.
Then he realized that his long search had been rewarded, and he fell on his knees and prayed that the Stone-maiden might be released from her prison, and given to him to be a little playfellow.
As soon as it was daylight the next morning, he started off to ask the advice of his one friend, the old Priest of Adgard.
The day was fine, with a crisp northern air, and a bright sun that danced on the long stretches of sandy grass, and on the swaying boughs of the fir trees.
Atven's heart beat hopefully as he neared the neat wooden house in which the old Priest lived.
Father Johannes welcomed him kindly, as he always did; and listened attentively whilst Atven told his story.
"It must have consideration, my child," he said. "I will come down to the shore to-morrow—perhaps I may be able to think of something."
Atven took up his cap humbly, and started on his homeward journey.
As he threaded his way beneath the shadows of the pine-trees, the sun's fingers darted through the branches and drew a golden pattern on the mossy ground under his feet; the mosquitoes hummed drowsily, the air was full of soft summer warmth and brightness—but Atven's thoughts were far away with the ancient legend and the Stone-maiden.
How had she come to be amongst the shipload of "wild-men" in the misty ages when Thor yet walked the earth? Had she a father and mother who loved her, and perhaps brothers and sisters—and how long had she been sleeping so quietly in the arms of the great rock?