I cannot write down those talks, though I mind every word of them.

But there was never any talk of the runes I had offered.
Neot spoke mostly, but Alfred put in words now and then that ever seemed to make things plainer; and I mind how Ethelnoth the ealdorman sat silent, listening to questions and answers that maybe he had never needed to put or hear concerning his own faith.
At first I was only asking because the king wished it, then because I grew curious, and because I thought it well to know what a Saxon's faith was if I was to bide among Alfred's folk.

Kolgrim listened, saying nought.

But presently Harek the scald would ask more than I, and his questions were very deep, and I thought that as days went on he grew thoughtful and silent.
Then one evening the song woke within the scald's breast, and he said to Neot: "Many and wise words have you spoken, Father Neot.

Hear now the song of Odin--the Havamal--and tell me if you have aught to equal it." "Sing, my son," the good man answered.