Were they so wonderful?”

“I had borrowed them of Gunnar to carry in my hay. What think you of that?”

“I think you to be such that I cannot believe it your custom to reward folk thus for a service,” said Olav; “so I think there must have been something rare and strange about those thongs nevertheless.”

“Gunnar must have thought I thought so,” replied Björn, “for he charged me with cutting off a piece of them.”

Olav nodded.

Björn asked, bending down to tie his shoe: “What would you have done in my place, Olav Audunsson?”

“’Tis not easy for me to say—” said Olav. He was struggling to get the pin of his brooch through his shirt.

“Nay, for none would think of charging a man of your condition with stealing a wretched piece of thong,” said Björn. “But you held not your hand either, Olav, when your honour was at stake.”

Olav was about to put on his kirtle, but he let his arm drop with it.

“What mean you—?”

“I mean—when word came hither, how you had served your brother-in-law for seeking to deny you the maid you were promised and giving you foul words withal—methought I could have a mind to do you a friendly office when you came home some day. But for that I had not taken service so near the haunts where once I owned a farm myself—though ’twas not a great one—”

Olav was putting on his belt. He unfastened the dagger that hung to it: a good weapon with a blade forged by a foreign armourer and a plate of silver with a hook to hold it to the belt. He handed it to Björn:

“Will you accept this as a token of friendship, Björn?”

“No. Have you never heard, Olav, that a knife is not a gift between friends?—it cuts friendship asunder. But you must do me this friendly office—you will cease giving to the wife who is here ever and anon.”

Olav blushed—he looked very young for the moment. To hide his embarrassment he said lightly, as he leaped onto the rock and began to walk up:

“I wist not that they knew so much hereabout of what has been between the Kolbeinssons and me.”

Björn had given him a start with what he said about being quick of hand when honour was at stake. The slaying of Einar Kolbeinsson had been far from his mind, it weighed so little on his spirit, except as the cause of the difficulties from which he was now free. So it had not occurred to him that Björn was alluding to that—

Olav had taken to Björn when he came and offered him his service, and he continued to like him. But he saw that the man had an ill report in the neighbourhood. His wife, Gudrid, came down to Hestviken at all times; Björn showed little joy at meeting her, and he seldom went home. Olav soon found out that she was the most arrant gossip, who preferred to roam from house to house mumping with her wallet rather than look to her home. Nor were they so poverty-stricken over at Rundmyr as she pretended; Björn took better care of his own than Gudrid gave him word for, he sent home both meat and fish and a little meal, and they had cow and goat. But now Olav had once called the woman foster-mother, so she never went from him without a gift. Now he was sorry he had put himself in this difficulty—he guessed it must be intolerable for Björn, when the man was to be chief of the serving-men at the manor, and his wife came and accepted alms in this way.

A desire had come upon Olav to associate with older men. Without his knowing it he had felt the want of someone who might have cared to teach him and be a guide as he grew up. He was now very courteous and respectful toward all old men among his equals, and helpful to the aged poor, received old men’s advice patiently, and followed it too, when he saw that it was beneficial. Moreover Olav was himself a man of few words when he came among strangers—but old folk could usually succeed in keeping the talk going, without his having to say much for his part or to listen the whole time. So they thought very well of the young Master of Hestviken.

Nor was he ill liked among those of his own age, though they thought it could scarce be said that Olav Audunsson brought mirth and gladness with him, and some mistook his quiet and silent manner for pride. But others deemed that the man was only somewhat heavy of disposition and not too keen-witted. That Olav and his wife were uncommonly fair to look upon and knew well how to demean themselves among folk, all were agreed.

One Saturday afternoon, about the time when the work ceased, Olav and Björn with both the house-carls were coming up from the waterside when they saw a company ride out of the little wood in Kverndal and go up the slope toward the manor. There were two men and three young maids whose flaxen hair floated freely down to their saddles; their gowns were red and blue. It was a fair sight on the meadow, which was still fresh and green with the after-grass—and Olav was glad when he recognized the daughters of Arne.

He took them in his arms and kissed them with a merry greeting as he helped them from their horses, and then he led them forward to his wife, who stood at the door and received her guests in her quiet and gentle way.

They had not been to the home-coming feast, and during the holy-days the two younger were to go home to their father; so the priest had sent them hither that they might bring greetings and gifts to the wife of their kinsman. The priest’s house-carl accompanied the maids, and as they rode past Skikkjustad, the son of that house came and offered to join them; he had spoken with Olav the week before about a bargain.

Olav went over to the loft-room, changed his sea-clothes, tidied himself, and put on his Sunday garments. He was glad to have these young kinswomen in the neighbourhood, so Ingunn would be less lonely. He had heard a rumour that Sira Benedikt and Paal of Skikkjustad were thinking of a marriage between Signe and Baard Paalsson, and it looked as though the two young people were not disposed to gainsay the matter either; indeed, it might be a comfort to them at Hestviken too if this bargain were made.

Outside, the weather was still and cold; the pale, clear air was a sure presage of frost at night. It was cold indoors too—much wood was thrown on the hearth, and after the household had been fed, the young people were minded to play in the courtyard awhile, till darkness came on, to warm themselves.