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"Counsel in the morning should be like an early draft, short and strong. Methinks that there is no need for long consideration here; we have all lately drank his health, we will not today pour water into his cup; he is a hero who has two good warranties --- the song of the minstrel, and our good pleasure; that is enough for me; I give him my voice for the rights of a guest."

The old men smiled at the zeal of the loyal man, and the younger ones expressed loudly their approbation. Then stood up Sintram, uncle to Theodulf, a man without eyebrows, with pale eyes and thin face, a hard host, and dangerous to his enemies, yet clever in counsel, and in great consideration at the court of the King.

"Thou, O Prince, art favorably disposed toward him, and he himself deserves it, so thou sayest; this gives a tendency to my wishes, and I would willingly greet him as a guest, as we at times do to foreign wanderers whose praise has not been proclaimed by the voice of the minstrel; yet a doubt restrains the wishes of my heart, and I ask, does he come as our friend from a foreign land? All the young warriors of our province do not stay by their hearths at home. I think also of those who go abroad after fame and fortune. Which of our race has fought with the Allemanns? I know of none. But in the army of the Romans there are bold swordsmen of our kindred; if these are enemies of the stranger, how can we call ourselves his friends? Have they fallen in fight? --- then the death-lament sounds in our villages. Who has caused their fall? Perhaps this man, so bold in battle, who himself boasted of it at the feast. How can we offer the rights of hospitality to an enemy, who as an enemy has spilled our blood? I know not whether he did it, but if he did not, it was an accident; he was fighting for King Athanarich. I hear it reported in the Roman army that Cæsar has to thank our fellow-countrymen, who speak our language, alone for his victory; like giants stood the red-cheeked sons of our lands above the black-eyed foreigners. Cæsar rewards them with armlets and honors and the highest offices. Ask concerning a powerful warrior and proud army in Rome: the Roman traders will answer, with an envious look, they are of German blood. Where shall our youths find war honors and the favors of the gods, if their weapons rust peacefully in the land? Where should the strong of our province go, enabling their brothers at home to enjoy the inheritance, if Cæsar did not open his treasure-house to wanderers? Therefore, I say, his kingdom is useful to us, and whoever fights against him is opposed to our advantage; look to it that the stranger does not bar the path which leads our high-minded heroes to gold, treasure, and honor."

The men sat with gloomy looks; it was a sorrow to them that he spoke the truth. But Bero, the father of Frida, broke the silence --- a raw-boned peasant, who knitted his bushy eyebrows with displeasure.

"Thou didst send thy brother into the Roman army" --- he spoke with a rough voice, and slowly -- "thou sittest comfortably on his inheritance; I am not surprised that thou praisest the foreign brood. But the peasant does not delight in the insolent fellows who return home from their war travels out of the Roman land, for they become bad companions, despisers of our customs, boasters, and loiterers. Therefore I say that Roman travels are a misfortune to our people. If our young warriors serve in the camp of foreign generals, they do it at their own risk; the people have not chosen nor dedicated them to it. I can boast of a home of my own, where I can wield my ax freely; also I am at peace with my neighbors, who honor my gods and my language. Now we have peace with every one. If an Allemann comes to our hearth, a valiant fellow, we give him a bed by our fire; if on the morrow a Roman warrior comes, who appears to us honorable, we perhaps do the same. Both must live discreetly, according to our laws; and shold one grudge the other the air and the hearth-fire, let them take their swords and fight out their quarrel outside the village fence; the blows are their affair, not ours. Therefore, I say, here is a heroic man; whether Roman or Vandal, let him be welcome to our hearths; we will be the hosts, and restrain him if he should disturb the peace of the land."

He spoke, and seated himself defiantly on his stool; the old men murmured assent. Then rose Albwin, a man of noble nature. It is said that the house-spirit dwells in the rafter-roof of his house, from the times of his fathers, and rocks the children of the family in the night, and taht on this account they do not grow up like other men; for all his family are delicate and small, yet pleasant in disposition, and powerful in good words. And he spoke thus:

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