“Thou wilt, thou wilt!” cried Wilfred, in delight. “Forget not, dear child, that ‘The earth, when conquered, gives us the stars.’” “I will not forget,” said Egwina, thoughtfully. “How beautiful the idea! I shall never see the stars again that I will not think of it.” And so it came about that each evening thereafter the time was spent by Egwina and Denewulf also in learning to read. Adiva would have none of it for herself, and muttered grumblingly that it was nonsense, and of no use to any but priests. When the lesson was over Egwina would sing for them, and the hut would ring with laughter and merriment. Wilfred, the stranger, listened eagerly to the songs, and soon proposed that the maiden should teach them to the others. “Alack! gladly would I do so, but what are they without a harp?” and Egwina looked sad. Consternation seized on the little household the next morning after this remark was made to find the stranger gone. Denewulf and Egwina were loud in their lamentations at his departure. Adiva grumbled openly, but secretly missed him as well as they. On the third day thereafter he returned bearing a harp. The cottagers received him with acclamations of joy. He seemed touched by their greetings, but offered no explanation of his absence or where he had obtained the harp. Egwina wondered much at the instrument, for it was of the finest workmanship. She soon taught him all the songs that she knew, and already was he skilled in the use of the harp. “Thou dost well,” she said, “but I wish that thou couldst have heard granther. Thou shouldst have seen his sweep. There! that is something like,” as Wilfred, after some trials, executed it to suit her. So the time passed until at last the Length month (March) came. One day Egwina went forth to see if she could find some sprout-kele for broth. Enticed by the beauty of the day, she stayed longer than she had intended, and hurried back to the house, for the dame was very busy. As she drew near the cottage she heard the voice of Adiva raised high in anger. “Drat the man! Never to turn the loaves when thou seest them burning. I’ll warrant that thou wilt be ready enow to eat them when they’re done.” “I crave thy forgiveness, dame.” The tones of Wilfred were contrite and full of humility. “I thought not once of them.” “Couldst thou not smell them when they lay at thy very feet?” demanded the dame. “Nay; I noted naught,” returned the stranger. “Good mother, be wroth with him no longer,” cried Egwina entering. “His mind is full of graver matters than woman’s work.” “Graver matters!” echoed Adiva, who was evidently in a bad way. “Graver matters! I wot that they fall not heavily upon him at meal time. ’Tis pity that a body can’t leave the house for a minute without a wite’s letting the loaves burn.” “Thou speakest truly,” said the stranger humbly. “He who eats should also work. That I have not done, but I will mend my ways, good dame.”