"Thou art but a boy," exclaimed Father Brian. "I was a soldier once, myself. Mark thou! Harold fighteth with two at a time instead of with one enemy only, and each of the twain is his equal, I think. I hear that the English themselves are little more than half-hearted for Harold. Were there not seven kingdoms of them not so long ago? They are a bundle of sticks that is badly tied together."
Somehow or other, although Ned was now one of Hardrada's warriors, he felt a strong feeling of admiration, if not of sympathy, growing in him for Harold of England. The Saxon king was to be forced to defend the northern and southern ends of his kingdom at the same time, and there was no fairness in it. A great deal that he was hearing was new to him, but he could dimly remember having read something somewhere concerning the great development of the early Irish Church.
"St. Patrick himself set it going," he said, thoughtfully, "but Father Brian doesn't seem to know much about him. Perhaps his biography hasn't been published there yet. As soon as it is, he'd better get a copy and read it."
Something like that idea was wandering around in his mind when he spoke to Father Brian in modern English concerning the telegraphic reports of Harold Hardrada's landing in England.
"What's that thou art saying, my boy?" sharply inquired the missionary, in good Clontarf Latin. "Change thy tongue."
Ned strove to explain the matter, but he found himself altogether at sea, for his reverend friend had not the smallest idea concerning either printing or electricity.
"It's the lightning, is it?" he gruffly remarked. "Let me tell thee, then, thou wilt get little good out of that."
Ned was silenced completely, and gave the matter up.
"It's a curious piece of business," he thought. "I have been living in another world than his. The world that he and all these others live in is pretty near a thousand years behind time. I wish I could give them a photograph of the Kentucky or show them an express train going sixty miles an hour."
He and the Vikings were going along at pony trot, and he was discovering that a steel mail overcoat, put on over leather and flannel, was a pretty warm kind of summer clothing.