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Crossroads of the World. Ha, ha, I never did hear the like.”
    “The where did you say?”
    “Sure, the Crossroads of the World! You must come from seven miles beyond the moon not to know that. Hai! You picked a queer time to come, with all of Them here”—he jerked his finger toward the four bearded men. “Well, I’d keep quiet about not having the power, if I was you. Ye know what the Havámal says:

    “ ‘To the silent and sage Does care seldom come
    When he goes to a house as guest.’

    “Ye’re likely to be in a jam when the trouble starts if ye don’t have protection from one of Them, but as long as They think ye’re a warlock, Uncle Fox will help you out.”
    He jabbed a finger to indicate the small, sharp-featured man among the four, then went on quickly: “Or are ye a hero? If ye are, I can get Redbeard to take ye into his service when the Time comes.”
    “What time? Tell me what this is all—” began Shea, but at that moment Aud and another girl appeared with wooden platters loaded with food.
    “Hai, sis!” called Thjalfi cheerfully, and tried to grab a chop from the platter carried by the second, a girl Shea had not previously seen. The girl kicked him neatly on the shin and set it before the late-comer.
    The meal consisted of various meats, with beside them a big slab of bread, looking as though it had been cut from a quilt. There was no sign of knife, fork, or any vegetable element. Of course, they would not have table silver, Shea assured himself. He broke off a piece of the bread and bit into it. It was better than it looked. The meat that he picked up rather gingerly was apparently a boiled pork chop, well-cooked and well-seasoned. But as he was taking the second bite, he noted that the shield girl, Aud, was still standing beside him.
    As he looked round Aud made a curtsy and said rapidly: “Lord, with this meal as with all things, your wishes are our law. Is there aught else that you desire?”
    Shea hesitated for a moment, realizing it was a formula required by politeness and that he should make some remark praising the food. But he had had a long drink of potent mead on an empty stomach. The normal food habits of an American urged him to action.
    “Would it be too much to ask whether you have any vegetables?” he said.
    For one brief second both the girl and Thjalfi stared at him. Then both burst into shrieks of laughter, Aud staggering back toward the wall, Thjalfi rolling his head forward on his arms. Shea sat staring, red with embarrassment, the half-eaten chop in his hand. He hardly noticed that the four men at the other side of the table were looking at him till the big red-headed man boomed out:
    “Good is the wit when men’s children laugh before the Æsir! Now, Thjalfi, you shall tell us what brings this lightness of heart.”
    Thjalfi, making no effort to control himself, managed to gasp out: “The . . . the warlock Harold wants to eat a turnip!” His renewed burst of laughter was drowned in the roar from Redbeard, who leaned back, bellowing: “Oh, ho, ho, ho, ho! Turnip Harold, ha, ha, ha!” His merriment was like a gale with the other three adding their part, even the blue-cloaked Wanderer.
    When they had quieted down a little Shea turned to Thjalfi. “What did I do?” he asked. “After all—”
    “Ye named yourself Turnip Harold! I’m afeared ye spoiled your chance of standing under Redbeard’s banner at the Time. Who’d want a hero that ate turnips? In Asgard we use them to fatten hogs.”
    “But—”
    “Ye didn’t know better. Well, now your only chance is Uncle Fox. Ye can thank me for saying ye’re a warlock. Besides, he loves a good joke; the only humorist in the lot of them, I always say. But eating turnips—ha, ha, that’s the funniest thing I’ve heard since the giant tried to marry the Hammer Thrower!”
    Shea, a trifle angry and now completely mystified, turned to ask explanations. Before he could frame the words there was a pounding at the