“Well! well!” said Birger, laughing,—for, being an old bear-hunter, he was not jealous, and could afford to laugh,—“we have not got to the higher flights of poetry yet, and we will take good care not to leave our posts again. As for you, Captain, pends-toi, brave Crillon, nous nous sommes combattus à Arcques et tu n’y étais pas. However, I think we had better get a little sleep, those who can, for the chances are we shall want steady nerves to-morrow.”
So, sending back the sentries to their posts, the whole party, with their weapons by their sides, and everything ready for a sudden emergency, rolled themselves up in their cloaks, with their feet to the fire, one of them (taking it by turns of an hour each) walking up and down, rifle in hand, within the circle of its light.
CHAPTER XXVI.
BEATING OUT THE SKAL.
“Now the hunting train is ready. Hark, away! By dale and height
Horns are sounding,—hawks ascending up to Odin’s halls of light.
Terror-struck, the wild-wood creatures seek their dens ’mid woods and reeds;
While, with spear advanced pursuing, she, the air Valkyria speeds.”
Frithi of Tegner.
“Hillo, Moodie! what news?” said the Captain; “have a cup of coffee and a—a—chop,” as that individual strode down the pass from the side farthest removed from the skal looking—as, indeed, was very nearly the case—as if he had neither trimmed his beard nor washed his face since the beginning of the campaign.