The house-folk openly discussed what maidens and widows might be reckoned a fit match, both in the parish itself and in the neighbouring districts—little joy as Olav had had of his wife for many years, they doubted not he would marry again as soon as might be.

Had not this Liv been such a loathsome creature, it were almost better—for his father could never marry her. Many men were content to keep a leman in their house. But then he recalled the time when Torhild was here. No, his father must not bring any strange woman to dwell at Hestviken—he would not have anyone going about here, keeping the stores and dealing out the food, whispering in his father’s ear at night, asking a boon or giving a word of advice, making mischief for him and Cecilia with their father, and filling the place with her own brood the while.

From here not much more was seen of the houses of Hestviken than the row of turf roofs on the slope under the crag. The shadow crept higher and higher up the hill, but the sun still shone on the roofs and the black cliff behind, with green foliage brightening the crevices. Up on the back of the Horse the red trunks of the firs were still ablaze.

All at once the tears burst from his eyes. His love of the manor smarted like homesickness; his grief at his father’s leaving him was overwhelming. The relish had gone out of all his former joys. Eirik gave himself up entirely, he lay on the ground weeping so that the tears ran down.

There was a rustling sound on the edge of the cliff above him. The boy started up, burning with shame. A sheep thrust out its black face among the bushes—there was a white gleam of sheep behind it. Eirik scrambled up and chased them away. A good thing it was not men. Or Jörund—

Slowly he came down again. There stood his wooden horse, a wretched little toy. He snatched it up, ran forward to the brink, and threw it over.

It was now just dark enough under the cliff to prevent his seeing what became of it—whether it landed on the rocks below or in the water. For an instant he stood as though spellbound—now he had done it! Then he turned and ran, sobbing with remorse. He slid, leaped, tumbled almost, down the steep path in the cleft, to where his boat lay.

Eirik reached it and cast off. “Oh nay, I must find the copper horse again”—so intent was he that the faint gurgling of the water against the bottom of the boat troubled him. As noiselessly as he could, he poled and rowed along under the cliff, staring and listening intently in the shadows. There was something black floating among the rocks—he raked it toward him with an oar. No, it was only a stick of wood. And there—no. What if he searched all over the beach tomorrow—it was so small.

“Dear, holy Mary, help me, let me find the copper horse! I will give my three pennies to Helga with the tooth, next time she comes.—Ave Maria, gratia plena Dominus tecum—”

There it was! On the other side of the boat, a little way out. It was almost a miracle that it had not drifted in among the stones of the beach, and then he would never have found it. The boy drew a deep breath of happiness when he held the wooden horse in his wet hand. Now that it was so late he dared not go up again and hide it in the cave; he stuffed it into the folds of his coat.

Then he seized the oars and rowed briskly across to the other shore.

The quay was deserted when he came ashore. In the wood above, the thrush was singing—Eirik had to stop and listen to it. Then he went at a run up the path to the houses, he was so beside himself with happiness. And every now and then he had to stop to listen to the song of the birds.

All was still at the manor.