A RUNAWAY DAY 65 



There is nothing in life sweeter than a little lone- 

 liness. Nowadays we live and die in crowds, like 

 ants and bees, so that solitude is likely to become one 

 of the lost arts. No book ever tastes so well as before 

 a great fire in the heart of a wilderness, even if the 

 wilderness be only a few miles away. In my cabin 

 I keep a special shelf of the books which I have 

 always wanted to read, and for which in some way 

 I never find time in the hurry of everyday life. That 

 evening I sat for long over the Saga of Burnt Njal, 

 and read again of the bill of Gunnar and the grim 

 axe, the "ogress of war," of Skarphedinn and the 

 sword of the dauntless Kari. In the flickering fire- 

 light I pictured the death-fight of Gunnar of Lithend, 

 one of the four great fights of one man against a 

 multitude in history, and heard again Hallgarda, the 

 fair and the false, forsake him to his death. 



"Give me two locks of thy hair," said Gunnar 

 to Hallgarda, when that his bow-string was cut in 

 twain; "and ye two, my mother and thou, twist 

 them together into a bow-string for me." 



"Does aught lie on it?" she says. 



"My life lies on it," he said. 



"I will not do it," said Hallgarda; "for know ye 

 now that I never cared a whit for thee." 



At last it was time to go to bed. I went out to 

 get a drink of the most wonderful water in the world. 

 Near the cabin a little bog was frozen over a foot 

 deep with white bubbled ice. In one place a round, 

 black hole had betrayed the secret spring that 

 flooded the whole swale. In the coldest weather this 



