"FAIR FELLOW DEEM I THE DARK-WINGED RAVEN."
Yaspard and Fred were alone in the boat. There was a pleasant breeze
blowing fair, and Yaspard had preferred taking his passenger himself,
leaving the Harrisons to entertain Gloy at Noostigard. Thus the
conversation between the two could be as confidential as they pleased.
"I wonder," said Fred, "if you know that it was your letter that
brought me to Boden?"
The Viking opened his eyes very wide. Evidently he knew nothing of the
sort, and Fred laughed as he glanced over the sheet of paper which had
come out of his pocket with that other letter.
"I don't believe you have the least idea _how_ good a letter it is. My
mother cried over it, and Isobel declared the writer ought to be
crowned king of every 'vik' in Shetland."
"Oh, come!" Yaspard exclaimed, blushing hotly at his own praises so
sung.
We will take the liberty of looking over Fred Garson's shoulder, and
reading that epistle which had done so much good.
"DEAR MR. GARSON,--My uncle has directed that the enclosed letter shall
be sent to you, so I must put it with this. It is none of _my_
business to judge him, and I am sure _you_ will not forget that he is
an old man, and has been bred up with a lot of old-fangled fads, and
lives a very solitary kind of life. I want you to know that I have
begun a kind of game which I expect will give me a chance of meeting
some of your Lunda fellows. I would take it as a great honour if you
would keep an eye upon us in this matter, and umpire us when we get
anyhow mixed about the rights of the game. I hope to find the Manse
boys at Havnholme, and will tell them, so that they can explain to you.
I am going to pretend to be a Viking, and make raids. But I'd like
_you_ to know something more about it than the mere play and nonsense.
"I just hate that horrid, miserable quarrel, which uncle speaks about
as The Feud; it seems such a stupid, cruel sort of thing. Poor Aunt
Osla cries about it, and my little sister and I are sometimes so
unhappy over it that we vow we shall make an end of it when we are
grown up. It is so awfully hard to think that there are so many boys
and girls like us growing up in Lunda, and we can't know them because
of the Feud. The truth is, I have not patience to wait till I am grown
up. It will be too late then, for I shall have lost my boy-friends
while I was a boy. Now, I hope you will understand that my Viking
exploits have got a really good kind of idea at the bottom of them; so
if you hear of fights, and forays, and the like, you will know that I
am trying in that way to 'settle' this hideous old vampire of a fend.
It's the only way I could think of while Uncle Brüs feels as he does.
"I know you are a right good fellow, as your father was, and you will
help me. I do need a good fellow's help, and you can't think how my
heart seems sometimes like to burst with longing to be with other boys
and like other boys. People talk of your minister, how good he is; and
of Mrs. Mitchell, and that splendid boy Frank who died. And I hear of
all _you_ do for the poor people, and about the Lady. Aunt Osla has a
heap to tell about _her_. I think I would not be so selfish and so
foolish as I am if I could talk to some of you Lunda folk, and _see_
how you live. But I must obey Uncle Brüs, and I must not annoy him; so
it's hard to see how I can clear up matters unless I go on the
'war-path,' and _you_ help me to manage our 'sham' so that it does not
harm anybody. Trusting you, I am your honest admirer and hereditary
foe,
"YASPARD ADIESEN.
"P.S.--Please, dear Mr. Garson, forgive Uncle Brüs, and pray, as I do,
that somebody may persuade him how silly and really sinful a feud can
be."
"Yes, it's a prime letter," remarked Fred; "and nothing but that letter
(particularly the postscript) would have made me pass over---- Bah!
what is the use of thinking more about it."
But even then his face flushed, and his naturally imperious temper
rose, as he recalled the rude, angry words which Mr. Adiesen had
written. There was a short silence, which Yaspard was the first to
break, "You have made a lot of people happy to-day, Mr. Garson," he
said very gratefully.
"I hope this is only the beginning of good times for us all," was the
answer. "But now, I wonder what is going to be your next adventure?"
"I expect they'll grow one out of another. By the way, what shall we
do about Gloy?"
"He isn't your prisoner now, but your guest, so you must let him return
when he pleases. No doubt the Mitchells will have some plan in head
for making capital out of Gloy's presence in Boden."
They chatted in the most friendly manner till they reached Lunda, when
they parted with mutual regret and many assurances that they should
meet again at no very distant time.
The wind was even more favourable for the voyage back, and Yaspard's
little boat went swiftly and easily along. He leaned back and let her
go, while giving himself up to ecstatic dreams of adventure in which
his new acquaintance played the important part. He had adopted Fred
Garson for his hero, and was already setting him in the chief place in
every airy castle of his imagination; but fancy's flight was
interrupted by flight of another kind. As he lay back, gazing more
into the air than on the course before him, his attention was drawn to
a party of shooies (Arctic skuas) badgering a raven, who was greatly
annoyed, and seemed at a sore disadvantage--a position which the lordly
bird seldom allows himself to be in.
These shooies live chiefly by preying on other birds. They are winged
parasites; they are very audacious, and fear no foe. Although they are
not larger than a pigeon, they are not afraid to lay siege to an erne
or a glaucus gull, and they will often do so as much for amusement as
for gain.
"Mr. Corbie is in a fix," quoth Yaspard to himself, as he watched the
swift, graceful evolutions of the shooies as they darted through the
air buffeting and tormenting the unfortunate raven, whose harsh, fierce
croak and futile efforts to escape were quite pitiful though amusing.
"If he doesn't gain land somehow he's done for, poor wretch: he is
tired now, and can't keep on wing much longer; if he touches the water
it's all up with him. Poor old corbie! they must have been after him a
long time." Thus our Viking soliloquised, as his boat glided on until
it was passing below the aerial battlefield.
At that moment Sir Raven, uttering a loud and prolonged scream, shot
downward and alighted on the thwart next Yaspard, too exhausted to do
more than utter one faint croak, which might have been a parting
anathema on the shooies, but which charity impels me to believe was an
expression of thankfulness for such an ark of refuge as the boat of a
Viking.
Yaspard leaned quickly forward, exclaiming, "Why, can it be? Yes, sure
enough--Thor, old fellow, how came you to be in such a plight?"
Still gasping, but self-possessed, Thor hopped from the thwart on to
Yaspard's arm, and then, turning up one side of his head, he leered at
the shooies in such an expressive and ludicrous manner that the boy
went into fits of laughter, even though one of the shooies swooped so
near in its baffled anger as to touch his hair.
Thor snuggled up to his master, and began to smooth his ruffled plumes
a bit, while Yaspard, tossing his hand about, so frightened the winged
banditti that they flew away, and Thor was satisfied.
It was only when this interesting episode was over that our young rover
allowed his vision to return to the homeward course; but when his
glance fell upon the sea ahead he saw a sight to rejoice the spirit of
a Viking. Near the mouth of Boden voe, straight before him, keeping
watch for him, lay the _Laulie_, her blue flag with its golden star
flying merrily at the mast-head, her white sail spread, her jolly crew
all alert and "on the war-path."
She was cruising about the entrance to the fiord, with the obvious
intention of preventing the _Osprey_ from reaching her own lawful
domain.
Up Yaspard sprung, and keenly surveyed the enemy's position and his
own, calculating his "chances" with as much anxiety as if life and
honour were at stake. He did not dream of turning aside, or trying to
reach any harbour of refuge save his own voe; but he knew that to pass
the _Laulie_ in safety would require considerable manoeuvring and
daring seamanship.
With utmost pleasure, and
"The stern joy that warriors feel
In foemen worthy of their steel,"
he drew from the locker his black Viking flag and ran it aloft, smiling
as the ugly thing spread itself in the breeze.
Thor watched this performance with profound gravity and attention; and
when Yaspard resumed his position Sir Raven solemnly hopped away and
took up a position on the bow, with his weather-eye sagaciously fixed
upon the black flag high overhead. He had so lately suffered so much
from dark-hued things flying above him that he was suspicious of that
pennon's intentions, and felt it necessary to observe its movements
with the closest heedfulness.
Yaspard, however, put another construction on the bird's behaviour.
"You're a genuine old brick!" he said; "a real Viking's raven, and no
mistake, Thor. Now I call that very fine of you, to take your proper
place on my prow. They'll think I've trained you to it. What prime
fun this is, to be sure!"
Thor lifted his shoulders, bent forward his head, and croaked as
dismally as ever his congeners croaked over a field of the slain in
days gone by; and Yaspard nodded to him, then gave entire attention to
the management of his boat.