Sent up there to play in safety, little Duke Jarl could not keep his red head from peering over the parapet. He began making fierce faces at the enemy--he was still too young to fight: and quick a grey goose-shaft came and sang its shrill song at his ear. So close had it gone that a little of the ducal blood trickled out over his collar. His face worked with rage; leaning far out over the barrier, he began shouting, “I will tell Duke Jarl of you!” till an attendant ran up and snatched him away from danger. Things were going badly: the castle was cut off from the land, and on the seaward side the foe had built themselves a great mole within which their war-ships could ride at anchor safe from the reach of storm. Thus there was no way left by which help or provender could come in. Little Duke Jarl saw men round him growing more gaunt and thin day by day, but he did not understand why till he chanced once upon a soldier gnawing a foul bone for the stray bits of meat that clung to it; then he learned that all in the castle except himself had been put upon quarter-rations, though every day there was more and more fighting work to be done. So that day when the usual white bread and savouries were brought to him, he flung them all downstairs, telling the cook that the day he really became Duke he would have his head off if he ever dared to send him anything again but the common fare. Hearing of it, the old Chief Constable picked up little Master Ninth Duke between finger and thumb, and laughed, holding him in the air. “With you alive,” said he, “we shall not have to wake Duke Jarl after all!” The little Duke asked when he would let him have a sword; and the Constable clapped his cheeks and ran back cheerfully at a call from the palisades. But others carried heavy looks, thinking, “Long before his fair promise can come to anything our larders will be empty and our walls gone!” It was no great time after this that the Duke’s Constable was the only man who saw reason in holding out. That became known all through the castle, and the cook, honest fellow, brought up little Jarl’s dinner one day with tears in his eyes. He set down his load of dainties. “It is no use!” said he, “you may as well eat to-day, since to-morrow we give up the castle.” “Who dares to say ‘we’?” cried little Duke Jarl, springing to his feet. “All but the Constable,” said the cook; “even now they are in the council-hall, trying to make him see reason. Whether or no, they will not let him hold on.” Little Jarl found the doors of the great hall barred to the thunderings of his small fist: for, in truth, these men could not bear to look upon one who had in his veins the blood of old Duke Jarl, when they were about to give up his stronghold to the enemy.