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“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 Ørlygur had been waiting for this. He rose, and seated himself at the boy’s bedside.