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Perhaps, when things became too bad, some revengeful man who had been deeply injured would try to meet evil with evil by murdering the king, or by getting up a war against him. In either case, many innocent men had to suffer from the evils that grew out of it. But one day a better way was found. Louis of Daneshold was now a grave, broadshouldered, powerful man.

So king after king planned expeditions, with his neighbours, and sailed away with their bravest knights and fighting-men to recover it. These expeditions were called "crusades," and it was the third of these that Louis of Daneshold made up his mind to join.

Daneshold they called it now; that is to say, the home, or hold of the Danes; and since they now spoke Norman-French more often than Saxon- English or Danish, Wulf's son was named Loup, which was pretty good French for "wolf;" and one more generation fled away under his rule, with nothing to record.

But one day young Louis of Daneshold entered the armoury by chance, and came across a somewhat rusty old shirt of mail, quite out of style. He knew it must date back to the time of the vikings, and must have seen many a wild fray, and the fancy took him to polish it up and look for scars.

Was it likely that Louis of Daneshold, with the blood of Norse ancestors in his veins, and those Crusader comrades of his, every whit as sturdy fighters, would hold in great respect a tricky king, a murderer of little boys, a man who could not lead to victory in his own battle? No! a thousand times no!

"The Queen has much pleasure in thus communicating with the President, and renewing to him her wishes for the prosperity of the United States." Let us pick up the thread of the story of one sharp splinter which we have lost sight of; the sword which Louis of Daneshold lost in battle, which Wulf had carried and which Ulf had made far back in the days of the Northmen.

But Louis lay back on his cushions with his heart fluttering like a girl's, knowing well that it was but a jest of the merry monarch's, and that the real honour he meant the world to know was battle-won. Thus he came back from Palestine "Sir Louis of Daneshold," with the red cross of the Crusader blazoned on his shoulder, and knighted by the King's own hand.

Then came the day of his son in turn; Louis, or as he was now called in the new fashion, Louis of Daneshold. Now Ulf had ploughed the sea so much in his youth that he was delighted to plough the land for the rest of his life. Wulf, as a boy, saw quite enough of sea-life to satisfy him. As it happened, Loup cared little for roaming; and the old traditions of the past were quite forgotten.