It was a proud day for Earl Oswald when the women of his household brought him news of the birth of a male child, healthy and well-formed, with promise of developing into vigorous life, indeed, in the nurse's opinion, it was one of the most wonderful infants that ever came into the world, and he was further gratified to learn that the mother was doing well, whom he waited upon as soon as the feminine portion of the community, who ruled supreme at this interesting crisis, permitted, to congratulate her on the auspicious event. Nor did he confine himself to mere gratulations and expressions of rejoicing; in demonstration of his gratitude to Heaven for his long-hoped-for heir, every day, for the succeeding week, he sat at the entrance door of his mansion and administered, with bountiful hand, food and stycas to all mendicant wayfarers, dispensed gifts to his servitors and slaves, and bestowed liberal donations on the Church and the monastic fraternities, with a stipulation in the latter case that they should pray for the welfare of the newly-born Christian child. The infant throve apace, and waxed more beautiful every day, with his blue Saxon eyes and fair flaxen hair, the darling of his mother, the cherished hope of his father, and the petted plaything of all the household. He had attained the mature age of twelve months, when a terrible calamity befel the family, a calamity, however, which was common enough in those days of turbulence, bloodshed, and war. It was the time when the Danish Vikings were most active in making landings on the British coasts, ravaging the country, and massacring the people who opposed them, and then sailing homeward with the spoils of the plundered villages and monasteries. Northumbria lay especially open to their incursions; Ravenspurn, Flamborough, and Lindisfarne, were their principal landing places, and the Humber, the Tees, and the Tyne, their high roads into the interior. They had, indeed, established a permanent encampment on the headland of Flamborough, and intrenched themselves by enlarging a natural ravine, deepening it, and throwing up earthworks, so as to constitute it a formidable defensive barrier stretching across the peninsula, which still exists, and is popularly known as "Danes' Dyke."