Those who can read with any comfort the crabbed Norman-French and Early English poetic versions will see at once where I have added incidents that may bring the story into a connected whole, as nearly as possible on the old Saga lines; and those readers to whom the old romance is new will hardly wish that I should pull the story to pieces again, to no purpose so far as they are concerned. And, at least, for a fairly free treatment of the subject, I have the authority of those previous authors whom I have mentioned. In the different versions, the founder of Grimsby is variously described as a steward of the Danish king’s castle, a merchant, a fisher, and in the English poem—probably because it was felt that none other would have undertaken the drowning of the prince—as a thrall. Another version gives no account of the sack episode, but says that Grim finds both queen and prince wandering on the shore. Grim the fisher is certainly a historic character in his own town, and it has not been hard to combine the various callings of the worthy foster-father of Havelok and the troubles of both mother and son. A third local variant tells that Havelok was found at Grimsby by the fisher adrift in an open boat; and I have given that boat also a place in the story, in a different way. The names of the kings are too far lost to be set back in their place in history, but Professor Skeet gives the probable date of Havelok and Grim as at the end of the sixth century, with a possible identification of the former with the “governor of Lincoln” baptized by Paulinus. I have, therefore, assumed this period where required. But a legend of this kind is a romance of all time, and needs no confinement to date and place. Briton and Saxon, Norman and Englishman, and maybe Norseman and Dane, have loved the old story, and with its tale of right and love triumphant it still has its own power. Stockland, _1899_ Chas. W. Whistler CHAPTER I. GRIM THE FISHER AND HIS SONS. This story is not about myself, though, because I tell of things that I have seen, my name must needs come into it now and then. The man whose deeds I would not have forgotten is my foster-brother, Havelok, of whom I suppose every one in England has heard. Havelok the Dane men call him here, and that is how he will always be known, as I think. He being so well known, it is likely that some will write down his doings, and, not knowing them save by hearsay, will write them wrongly and in different ways, whereof will come confusion, and at last none will be believed. Wherefore, as he will not set them down himself, it is best that I do so. Not that I would have anyone think that the penmanship is mine. Well may I handle oar, and fairly well axe and sword, as is fitting for a seaman, but the pen made of goose feather is beyond my rough grip in its littleness, though I may make shift to use a sail-needle, for it is stiff and straightforward in its ways, and no scrawling goeth therewith.