"Bring him in," then turned and ran to the house.
They bore me up between the double ranks of stabled kine to where the great fire of turf and wood burned at the head of the hall, and laid me on a table.
"Is he dead ?" asked Thorvald, my father, who had come home that night; "and if so, how ?" "Aye, father," answered Ragnar, "and nobly.

He dragged Steinar yonder from under the paws of the great white bear and slew it with his sword." "A mighty deed," muttered my father.

"Well, at least he comes home in honour." But my mother, whose favourite son I was, lifted up her voice and wept.

Then they took the clothes from off me, and, while all watched, Freydisa, the skilled woman, examined my hurts.

She felt my head and looked into my eyes, and laying her ear upon my breast, listened for the beating of my heart.
Presently she rose, and, turning, said slowly: "Olaf is not dead, though near to death.