"I wish," he cried, when his mother had finished her stories for the night, "I wish I were a Viking, like Mr. Rollo and Mr. Eric the Red. It would be fine."
For several days Idris would listen to no history that did not relate to Vikings. He took likewise to drawing Norse galleys from his mother's description of them, giving to every vessel the orthodox raven-standard, dragon-prow, and a row of shields hung all around above the water-line. And he somewhat startled the good Curé of Quilaix, who had made a morning-call upon Mrs. Breakspear: for when told to hand the reverend gentleman a glass of wine, he held the drink aloft with the cry of "Skoal to the Northland, skoal!" adding immediately afterwards, "Runes! runes! I wish some one would teach me how to read runes. Won't you, monsieur?"
Runes! Monsieur le Curé had had a reputation for scholarship once upon a time: but thirty years incessantly spent in doing good among the people of his parish had left him so little time for study that he could now read his Greek Testament only by the aid of the French translation.
"And why do you wish to learn runes, my little man?" he said, patting the boy on the head.
"Because—because——" began Idris; but, observing that his mother was pressing her finger upon her lip as a sign for him to be silent, he stopped short, and Mrs. Breakspear adroitly turned the conversation to other matters. After the departure of the Curé, she said:—
"Idie, you must never let any one know that we have that runic ring in our possession."
"Why not?" he asked in surprise.
"Because there are men who desire to lay their hands upon it, and if they learn that it is in this house they may try to steal it; nay, will perhaps kill us in order to obtain it. The ring has been the cause of one murder, and if you speak of it out of doors it may be the cause of another. Remember, then, you must not mention the ring to any one. Remember, remember!"