Read Ebook: Guest the One-Eyed by Gunnarsson Gunnar Worster W J Alexander William John Alexander Translator

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Ebook has 2879 lines and 109526 words, and 58 pages

Somewhat to his disappointment, Ormarr did not seem to be greatly annoyed, but merely walked off, calling quietly over his shoulder: "Mind you don't miss that bird, Mr. Clever-with-your-gun."

Einar turned round angrily. "Don't shout like that--you'll scare it away. That's my twenty-first."

"All right. It's too frightened of you to move. Go and see."

Einar took careful aim--his hand shook a little, but only because he was inwardly chuckling over the trick he had played Ormarr, and the thought of telling what he had done. Though, indeed, he might get little credit for it all; people were rather apt to side with the lordly folk from Borg. Still, it was good to have fooled that brat Ormarr again.

The bird was sitting close on the rock. Einar fired, and, raising his gun, saw that the bird was still in the same position. Seeing no feathers fly, he thought he must have missed, and loaded again. Then creeping cautiously forward, he rested his gun on a stone, and fired again. The ptarmigan did not move. Einar felt sure his shot must have taken effect. He went right up to it. The bird was dead enough, but what was more, it was cold. And lifting it, he saw a piece of paper tied to one of its legs, with a few words in pencil. "Clever shot, aren't you? Thanks for a pleasant day's sport.--Ormarr."

"Curse the little jackanapes!"

Einar never told any one after all how he had scored off Ormarr that day.

Ormarr hurried along up hill and down, firing and reloading rapidly, scarcely seeming to take aim at all, but never missing his bird. His narrow sunburnt face was flushed with exertion, and drops of perspiration trickled down from his forehead. His eyes searched eagerly about for game, and in a very short time he had a bag of twenty-seven. Then suddenly, coming round the corner of a rock, he stood face to face with Pall ? Seyru. Pall tried to avoid him, but Ormarr called him back. He sat down, wiped the perspiration from his face, and smiled as Pall came up.

"Puh--I'm warm enough, for all it's fifteen degrees of frost. You look half frozen."

Pall muttered something, and tried to hide his empty sack, which had the effect of drawing Ormarr's attention to it.

"What's that--going back home with an empty bag? Won't Bjarni let you have things any more?"

"I'm in debt there already. And I couldn't promise to pay before next autumn."

"But at Christmas-time--and you're not a rich man."

"That makes but little difference in his books."

"Ho--who says that--you?"

"'Twas Bjarni said so."

"And you had to go and ask him--beg of him--like that?"

"Our cow didn't calve, and we've no milk. And there's no food in the place beyond."

"H'm. What were you going this way round for? 'Tisn't any short way home."

"I didn't want to meet anyone."

"And going back empty-handed? Why didn't you come to us?"

"I've been a burden to many this long time--to your folk more than any. And I'll not ask for help from the parish."

Something in the man's face made Ormarr catch his breath. The blood left his cheeks, and in a hushed voice he asked:

"You mean--you'd...."

Pall nodded. "Yes. There's times when it seems better than living on this way."

Ormarr sprang to his feet.

"Pall ... here, take these birds--just from me. And come home and talk to father. You must. He'll be just as glad to do anything as you could be for it. As for Bjarni, he's a cur. You can tell him so from me next time you see him."

Pall was silenced, and tears rose to his eyes. Ormarr understood, and said no more. They divided the birds into two lots, though Ormarr would gladly have carried the whole, and in silence they started off down the slope.

Ormarr slept in a bed next to his father's. It had been his mother's bed. When the light was put out that night, Ormarr had not yet found courage to tell what he had been thinking of since his meeting with Pall that day. Nor did he know what had passed between his father and Pall.

Half an hour later, perceiving that his father was still awake, he managed to whisper, softly and unsteadily:

"Father!"

It was as if ?rlygur had been waiting for this. He rose, and seated himself at the boy's bedside.

"'Twas well you met Pall this morning, lad. His wife and two little children were waiting for him to come home."

The words gave Ormarr the courage he had lacked.

"Father, may I give him Blesa? His cow won't calve for six weeks, and they've no milk."

"I've promised Pall to send him Skjalda, and a few loads of hay the first fine day the roads are passable. And I am going to take little Gudrun to live here--they've enough to do as it is."

Ormarr's heart was full of thankfulness to his father for his kindness to Pall. But he was shy of speaking; words might say less than he meant. And there must be no misunderstanding between his father and himself--this thought was always in Ormarr's mind, for he loved his father deeply. Now in the darkness of the room, he could hardly distinguish his features, but in his mind's eye he saw him clearly, sitting there on the bedside. He knew every line in the calm, composed face, finely framed in the dark hair and brown beard. Often he had been told that there was not a handsomer man to be found than his father. He had the physique of an athlete, and Ormarr knew his every movement and attitude. He strove now to breathe all his love towards the loved figure, vaguely seen in reality, yet clear as ever to his mind. He felt that his father could not fail to perceive the mute expression of his loving gratitude.

For a while both were silent. Then ?rlygur rose, and smoothing his son's hair, he said:

"You know, Ormarr, that all I possess will in time belong to you and your brother. Then you will be able to give away more than trifles. At present, you have little to use in charity, but what you have, you may do with as you please. Remember that it is our duty to help those who are poorer wherever we can. And when you hear of any one that needs a helping hand, always come to me. Wealth is not lost by charity. And now good-night--it is time we were asleep."

He went back to his bed, and a moment after, spoke again.

"Ormarr, you remember how generous your mother always was. You seem to grow more like her every day. I think she would have been very happy tonight."

Ormarr burst into tears, hiding his face in the pillow to make no sound. And after a little while, he fell asleep.

When he awoke next morning, he felt for the first time since his mother's death as if she were invisibly present among them--as a link between his father and himself.

And he was filled with a proud sense of having entered into a secret covenant with his father; it gave him a feeling of manhood, of responsibility.

Bjarni Jonsson, the trader, and Daniel Sveisson, the parish priest,--Sera Daniel, as he was called,--sat drinking in Bjarni Jonsson's front parlour. They were seated by the window, looking out over the fjord.

The sun was setting, and the shadow of the house was flung far out over the smooth sea. The smoke from the chimney had already reached the rocky haunt of the eider duck. The cliff was the home of immense flocks of many-coloured birds, for it was spring, and the breeding season was at its height. Numbers of gorgeous drakes were swimming round the rock, and amongst them a few plump and comely eider duck, taking an hour's rest from their duties before sunset, leaving the nest and eggs to the care of the father birds.

Sera Daniel enjoyed the view, for he was looking out over his property. The eider-duck cliffs, even those farther out, were by ancient custom regarded as belonging to the living. And they brought him in a very nice little sum.

He puffed away at his long pipe in silence.

Bjarni noticed his contented air, and was not pleased. Surely it would be more reasonable that the revenue from the eider-duck cliffs should come to him, Bjarni, as owner of the shore lands. But priests were all alike, a greedy lot! For ages past they had been petted and spoiled with all sorts of unjust privileges and unreasonable perquisites. And what did they do for it all? Nothing in the least degree useful, nor ever had--unless it were something useful to grow fat themselves in a comfortable cure.

Such was Bjarni's train of thought. And he meant it all quite earnestly. But he said nothing, for, outwardly, he and Sera Daniel were the best of friends--drank their grog together, and played cards in all good fellowship. At the moment, they were only waiting for the doctor to come and take a hand.

No, in his inmost heart Bjarni detested the priest; the portly figure of the man was a continual eyesore to him. Sera Daniel was a man of imposing presence, there was dignity and calm authority in his carriage and bearing, and Bjarni, having no such attributes himself, found herein further cause for jealousy.

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