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“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: