The wind blew their fair hair back from their faces, and their flowing curls floated on the breeze; for Wulf and Ella were Saxon boys, sons of freemen; and their long hair,— the sign of their free birth,—had never been cut.

They soon left the village behind them, and neared the gloomy forest, the mark land, that spread like a broad belt around every Saxon village,—a mark, or boundary, between neighbor and neighbor, as well as between enemies.

On the outskirts of the forest the boys stopped to take breath, and Wulf threw down his bow and stooped to tighten the woollen straps that, crossed and recrossed about his legs, bound his gaiters firmly on.

The race had loosened one of them, and before the final start for the eagle's tree, Wulf would make sure that no such trifle as a loosened strap should hinder him from winning.

"Ready!" they both shouted, and, tossing back their hair, away they went, like arrows from the bow, away into the deep, dark forest. As they went on they became silent, and when they reached the great beech-tree, rudely carved with a picture of an eagle, they did not shout, but Wulf, who reached it half a minute sooner than his companion, paused for an instant under the broad branches, and thus assuring himself that his companion recognized him as victor, turned his face towards the village again; for no one would linger long near the mark tree, for it was a sacred spot which marked the boundary between two villages, always to be treated with respect, and almost with awe, by the people. Whoever stepped over his neighbor's mark must do it at his peril. So the boys had shown not a little daring in choosing the eagle's tree as their goal, and no wonder they did not care to remain under its shade.

As they tramped along homeward through the rough forest path, they heard the crackling of brushwood on their right, and a herd of pigs, guarded by a boy about twelve years old, broke across the foot-way.

The swineherd was a half-naked boy dressed only in a tunic or jacket of skin reaching nearly to his knees, and he had a metal ring around his neck. This ring was not a collar or necklace worn as an ornament. It fitted so tightly that it could not be taken off. It must have been soldered on and was meant to stay. It was marked, as a dog's collar is, with his master's mark or sign, for this boy was a slave or serf.

His hair, which was closely cropped, was less fair than the long locks of Wulf and Ella, and he carried no bow and arrows, as the other boys did.

The two boys greeted him in a friendly way.

"Do the swine feed well here?" asked Wulf.

"Yes, on the best of beech-nuts and acorns, but they will stray towards the mark tree, and lead me where great Grendel, the man-eater, may find me."

"But Grendel belongs yonder, away over the mountains," said Ella.

"Nay, but he is a mighty stepper over the mark," said the swineherd, shaking his head ominously. "There is no knowing when he may come, nor where."

"Don't be a coward, Uffen," cried Wulf. "As soon as Grendel steps over the mark, he must blow his horn, and that will give you time to prepare to meet him."

"Yes, yes," muttered Uffen, "you may well say so. With what shall I meet him? A thrall has no arms."

"I will defend you," said Wulf; "my thrall shall not fail of a gallant protector;" and he looked to his bow-string, and, drawing an arrow to the head, faced the gloomy forest with the air of an earl's son.

sang Ella laughingly, but he also gave a loving look of admiration at his young cousin, who was to be the head of the family by and by, and whose loyal companion he was destined to be.

Just at this instant, as if to test their courage, the blast of a horn rang out loud and clear from the forest.

"It is Grendel himself," whispered the swineherd.

"Nonsense!" cried the keen-eyed Wulf, "use your eyes, man, and see the earldorman's messenger already taking the path to the moot hill.

The moot hill was a low rounded hill just outside the village where the free mark-men or land-holders met once a month to hold their moot court and deal out justice to all men, and settle all affairs that needed not to go up to the great witangemot, or meeting of the wise men of the nation.

Within the circle of the moot court the boys could not enter, but they loved to seat themselves on rock or tree-trunk at the foot of the hill, and listen to the clash of arms by which the men gave their assent to any proposal of the earldormen, and gather from some old man too lame and weary to climb the hill, such tales and old songs as all boys in all countries and all times love to hear.

So Ella and Wulf left the swineherd to his beech-nuts and acorns, and tried another race to the foot of the moot hill.

They were just in time to see the earldorman's messenger welcomed by Erkennin, the stately grandfather of young Wulf, and they seated themselves on a mossy rock to wait for the end of the meeting.

Presently old Elric came slowly down the hill. His long white hair flowed over his shoulders, and his blue eyes looked brightly out from under shaggy eyebrows. Many a scar marked his rugged face and bare arms and hands, but he held his head proudly yet, though the spear sometimes trembled in his stiffening hands.

The seax—a short, hooked broadsword or dagger, from which some writers tell us the Saxons derived their name—hung from his girdle, and indeed he was a fine figure of an old warrior.

As he met the lads, a smile lighted his rugged face. He was fond, in his rough way, of the young Wolf's cub and his friend, and was quite willing to give them a bit of wisdom now and then from his eighty-years store of it.

"It is a good day for news," he said. "And for such news as comes to-day, most truly it is good."

"Why so, father Elric?" asked young Wulf.

"It is the day of our father Woden, the mover (Wodensday, Wednesday). To-day we divide the land anew, that no man may become so attached to his fields that he will not be ready to go out to new conquests; for it is weak and unmanly to gain by sweat what you can win by blood."

"The blood of Woden flows in your veins, young Wulf, and it is time now that you should be going out to conquer new lands."

"But why is this a good day for news, and what news?" eagerly asked the boy again.

"It is news that may concern you," answered the old man, "if you are the boy I take you to be. But your grandfather is the one who will tell it you. Wait until the moot court breaks up, and you will hear."

"Tell us about the other days, father Elric," said Ella.

"I know Thor's day (Thursday)," cried Wulf, "the day when the Thunderer lets fly his strong hammer at his foes."

"And Tuesday is Tyr's day. I count him the bravest of them all," continued old Elric.

"Why bravest?" asked the boys.

"Because he put his right hand in the wolf Fenrir's mouth as a hostage, while the gods chained him. And he did it knowing that when the chain proved too strong to be broken, Fenrir would bite his hand off. That was brave, the one-handed god is he whom I worship. I was born on his day."

"But see the court is breaking up, I must be going, and you too, my lads. Farewell, young Wolf's cub, don't forget the race that bred you. You should be following the swan-road in a good war-keel before many winters more pass over your head."