She answered him freely enough, telling him of her school days in Denmark, of her long holiday visits to the old Danish grandmother, whose memory stretched back through three generations, and whose mind was stored with traditions of men and days now long forgotten.

This particular saga, she said, had, for instance, never been written in its entirety till she took it down from the old dame's lips, much as in the fifteenth century the Iceland sagas were recorded by Snorro Sturleson and others.

Even the traditional music of the songs as they were sung centuries ago she had received from her with their violin accompaniments.
"I have one in the house," broke in Morris, "a violin--rather a good instrument; I used to play a little when I was young.

I wish, if you don't mind, that you would sing them to me after dinner." "I will try if you like," she answered, "but I don't know how I shall get on, for my own old fiddle, to which I am accustomed, went to the bottom with a lot of other things in that unlucky shipwreck.

You know we came by sea because it seemed so cheap, and that was the end of our economy.