"They will not tarry long," said the old woman, calmly going on with her spinning. "I have often seen them dash forward in all the pride of strength, and soon sink feebly back again." "You women, those unable to bear arms, the slaves, and the cattle are to be received in two fortresses far away from the lake--one on Odin's Mountain in the west, the other among the eastern marshes. We shall form two divisions: one stationed in the east, the other in the west. Your son is assigned to the eastern band; he was sent directly from the council to the swamps. The troop will go through the fords there and strengthen the breastwork of logs around the meadows to prevent the entrance of the Italians." "Then we must hasten eastward to the morasses. We shall be nearer to him there." Adalo hesitated. His face again crimsoned and he cast a keen glance at the door of the house ere he began: "That was his first idea--and by the decree of the people the fugitives were thus divided. But--some one else--a friend--counselled him not to hide you in the swamps, but--on the Holy Mountain." "You belong to the western band--on the mountain." Adalo made no reply. "You gave him that counsel, Adalo!" "I do not deny it; you know that I mean kindly. You will be better concealed on the lofty wooded summit of Odin's Mountain than in the marshes. Life in the fever-breeding swamps is full of discomfort--the disease often attacks the inhabitants--and it is not so safe. The eastern band will not remain in your hiding place: Suomar himself cannot protect you; concealment is your sole defence. But on Odin's Mountain, far up within the stone fortress, the gods of the land themselves will shield you. And the life there in the woodland huts and tents built of green branches will be more comfortable and pleasant. And--" he spoke slowly and modestly--"I myself will be there to defend you. Follow me,--to-morrow it may be too late,--follow me at once!" Just at that moment two acorns fell rattling on the top of the rude stone table and rebounded to the earth. Adalo looked up. "A squirrel?" he asked. "Yes. A _red_ one," added the old woman, nodding. "It often plays its saucy pranks up there. They are sometimes very spiteful." "Indeed they are," replied Adalo, laughing. "One which I once caught nearly bit through my finger. There!" Waldrun felt the fore-finger of his outstretched hand, then without releasing it, said: "There is another scar close by. My naughty granddaughter bit you years ago--do you remember? How did it happen?"