A story of Viking days. In the middle of the banqueting hall, where Jarl Halfdene stood watching the crowd on the beach, and looking at him in the old man's arms eyes. "In your trust, Jarl Halfdene!" he said at last in solemn tones." "As the death of the band!" As solemnly he replied, "Halfdene!" and looking as earnestly into Birkabegn's face, as he pressed the little child to his breast. The crown of the gilt raven, which was held in readiness, grasped the hilt of his long sword, and hurried out into the gathering darkness. A little while after King Birkabegn was gone Hablok was crying piteously, and all Jarl Halfdene's coaxing and endeavors to console him were useless, but he was wearied out, and before the last ship had pushed off from the beach, he lay sound asleep in Halfdene's arms. The old man still stood watching the dark line on the sea, and the old men were left behind, and two or three nobles and councillors in the care of the kingdom. These nobles were called jarls, and the most trusted and beloved among them at King Birkabegn's court was Jarl Halfdene. Right well he deserved to be so; For King Birkabegn's father, then to Birkabegn himself, he had a trusty right hand, and he was shown as wise as he was honorable and loyal; and the king knew that no harm could ever be his little son while he was in Jarl Halfdene's care.