"NOW EACH GOES HIS WAY."
Some hours later Mr. Adiesen appeared at his own door laden with blocks of serpentine, fragments of lichen, moss, seaweed, and shells. Yaspard followed him into a little room which was doing duty as a study until the Den was restored to order, and as the scientist put down his treasures the lad said—in a trembling voice, be it confessed—"I want to tell you about something, uncle; something I've been doing."
"Well, go on," said Mr. Adiesen, not looking up, and in a very grim tone.
"I—I—there used to be—I've heard you say—that our ancestors were Vikings; and I—I thought I'd be—a Viking."
Yaspard got so far, and stuck. It was hard to go on telling of his romantic fancy and wild escapade with that grave face before him.
"You thought you'd be a Viking," Mr. Adiesen repeated calmly, then paused, and asked in ice-cold tones, "Well, what else do you wish to say?"
"I think it right to tell you—I feel I ought—even about what—I mean—in fun;—but, uncle," and again poor Yaspard came to a deadlock, and might never have made a satisfactory confession if help had not come to him in the form of Signy.
She had been hovering about the door in much trepidation, and, fearing that her brother's courage might fail him, she stole to his side, put her hand in his, looked fearlessly at Uncle Brüs, and said—
"He has not done anything to be ashamed of, uncle; only we thought you ought to know, because it came out of the feud partly."
The Laird's brows came together in a frown, but he was very fond of Signy. She was his one "weakness," Aunt Osla said, and said truly.