The Norsemen in the West Part 29

"It am so fun-ny, O'af," said Snorro, repeating the laugh as he looked at the native boy.

Observing the success of his efforts to please, Powlet put a spot of the red paint under each eye, and Snorro laughed so much at this that all the other boys came crowding round to ascertain and enjoy the joke.

Powlet now offered to anoint Snorro in the same way, but Snorro objected, and, pointing to his protector said, with a look of glee--

"Do O'af."

Nothing else would have induced Olaf to submit, but Snorro's wish was law to him. He therefore consented at once, and Powlet, dipping his finger in the red paint which he carried in the hollow of his hand, drew a thick stroke from Olaf's forehead down to the point of his nose, where he made it terminate in a large, round spot.

There was a tremendous shout at this, not only from Snorro, but from all the other boys; and Olaf was so pleased to see Snorro happy, that he turned to Powlet, pointed to his face, and nodded his head by way of inviting further decoration.

Powlet was an intelligent boy. He understood him at once, and went on with his work, a boy coming up at the moment with some white paint in his hand, and another with some blue. A white diamond was immediately planted on each cheek, and a blue circle under each eye, with a red spot in the centre of each. So far, the work was very striking and suggestive, but when Powlet finished off by drawing a series of blue, red, and white lines over Olaf's eyes, in the forms that usually indicate astonishment, added a red oval to the chin, with a blue spot in the middle of it, and stuck some feathers in his hair, the effect was absolutely tremendous, for it caused the native boys to yell with delight, and Snorro almost to fall off his protector's knee in a fit of juvenile hysterics.

"Don't overdo it, Snorrie," said Olaf in some alarm.

"Oh! O'af, 'oo _is so_ fun-ny!" he cried again, giving way to mirth till the tears ran down his cheeks.

At this point a tall savage came rus.h.i.+ng out of the chief's tent with glaring eyes, and made for the spot where the boys were a.s.sembled. They seemed to know at once what was his errand, for, with one consent, they scattered and fled. The tall savage singled out Powlet, caught him, punched his head, and flung him into the river, after which he turned, and, without taking any notice of the captives further than to gaze at them, returned leisurely to the regal tent.

Meanwhile Powlet came to the surface, swam like an otter to the sh.o.r.e, and, clambering up the bank, ran into the woods, seemingly none the worse of his bath.

Thus left alone, Olaf put Snorro on his back and sauntered away into the woods along the banks of the river. Forgetting his ridiculous appearance, he began to think of home and to feel very sad, while his charge, overcome with his late exertions, fell asleep on his back. The longer he walked the sadder he grew, and at last he groaned rather than said, "What _shall_ I do?"

Suddenly it occurred to him, that as the savages appeared to be very careless about watching him, he might run away. It could do no harm to try, and he would not be in a much worse position than when lost in the woods before. Under the influence of this thought he stopped and looked cautiously round in all directions. No one was to be seen. He breathed hard, turned off the track on tiptoe until he had got into what appeared to him to be a very dense and sequestered part of the woods, then suddenly took to his heels and ran for his life!

A loud laugh sounded in the bushes in front of him, and he stopped short just as Powlet appeared, wagging his small head and laughing inordinately.

Poor Olaf guessed at once that the boy had been set to watch him; he therefore wheeled about and walked back to the river, where, going out on a spit of land that he might not be overheard, he sat down on the ground and communed bitterly with himself.

"Oh why, why did I break my promise?" he murmured in deep despondency.

After a long silence he began to think aloud.

"It all comes of _disobedience_!" he muttered.

"Father used to say, `If you love me, obey me. If you want to prove that you love Gudrid, _obey_ her.' That's it, Olaf. It's there that the sin lies. He told me never to pa.s.s the ridge, and I _did_ pa.s.s the ridge, even though I had promised not to; and so, owing to that little bit of disobedience, here you are, Olaf--and Snorrie too--poor Snorrie-- and we're likely to remain here for ever, as far as I can see. Oh that I had not done it! But what good can wis.h.i.+ng do _now_? If I had loved father better, perhaps I would have obeyed him better."

It would almost seem as if Olaf had heard of such a word as this--"If ye love me, keep my commandments!"

After a few minutes he broke forth again--"Yes, I know that I did not intend to disobey; nevertheless I _did_ it. And I did not think such awful things would follow--but that does not mend the matter. What _shall_ I do? Snorrie, I think I could gladly lay down my life, if I could give you back once more to your mother."

Snorro heard not the remark. He was as sound as a top, and Olaf looked sadly at the little head that lay on his shoulder. Then it struck him that it was high time to have the child put to bed, so he rose and hurried back to the women's tent, where he was received with as much kindness as before.

Very soon Snorro's little head reposed upon a pillow of rabbit-skins, and not long after that Olaf went to rest beside him on a deer-skin couch, where, lying on his back, he could see the sky through the hole in the top of the tent whence the smoke of the fire escaped. As he lay there the burden of his thoughts was ever the same--"Oh _why_ did I do it? Why did I disobey?" Thus the poor boy lay, self-condemned, and gazed upwards and pondered, until sweet sleep came and carried heart and brain to the blessed refuge of oblivion.

CHAPTER TWENTY ONE.

REINFORCEMENTS SENT OFF TO KARLSEFIN--FOES DISCOVERED IN THE WOODS--A NIGHT ATTACK, AND OTHER WARLIKE MATTERS.

We must return now for a little to the settlement of the Nors.e.m.e.n, which, by the way, had by this time come to be called by the name of Leifsgaard.

Here, from Thorward's house, there issued tones which indicated the existence of what is popularly known as a "breeze." Human breezes are usually irregular, and blow after the manner of counter-currents; but in Thorward's habitation the breezes almost invariably blew in one direction, and always issued from the lungs of Freydissa, who possessed a peculiar knack of keeping and enjoying all the breeze to herself, some pa.s.sive creature being the b.u.t.t against which it impinged.

On the present occasion that b.u.t.t was Bertha. Indeed, Bertha was a species of practising-b.u.t.t, at which Freydissa exercised herself when all other b.u.t.ts failed, or when she had nothing better to do.

"Don't say to me that you can't help it!" she cried, in her own amiably shrill tones. "You can help it well enough if you choose. You are always at it, morning, noon, and night; I'm quite sick of you, girl; I'm sorry I brought you here; I'd send you back to Greenland to-morrow if I could. If the s.h.i.+p sank with you on the pa.s.sage, I'd rejoice--I _would_! There! don't say it again, now; you're going to--I can see that by your whimpering look. _Don't_ say you can't help it. Don't!

don't! Do you hear?"

"Indeed, _indeed_ I can't--"

"There! I knew you would," shrieked Freydissa, as she raised herself from the wash-tub in which she had been manipulating some articles of clothing as if she were tearing Bertha to pieces--"_why_ can't you?"

"It isn't easy to help weeping," whimpered Bertha, as she continued to drive her spinning-wheel, "when one thinks of all that has pa.s.sed, and poor--"

"Weeping! weeping!" cried Freydissa, diving again into the tub; "do you call that weeping? _I_ call it downright blubbering. Why, your face is as much _begrutten_ as if you were a mere baby."

This was true, for what between her grief at the sudden disappearance of Olaf and Snorro, and the ceaseless a.s.saults of her mistress, who was uncommonly cross that morning, Bertha's pretty little face was indeed a good deal swelled and inflamed about the eyes and cheeks. She again took refuge in silence, but this made no difference to Freydissa, or rather it acted, if anything, as a provocative of wrath. "Speak, you hussy!" was usually her irate manner of driving the helpless little handmaid out of that refuge.

"What were you going to say? Poor what?" she asked sharply, after a few minutes' silence.

"I was going to say that poor Snorro and--"

"Oh! it's all very well to talk of poor Snorro," interrupted her mistress; "you know quite well that you took to snivelling long before Snorro was lost. You're thinking of Hake, you are. You know you are, and you daren't deny it, for your red face would give you the lie if you did. Hake indeed! Even though he _is_ a thrall, he's too good for such a silly thing as you. There, be off with you till you can stop your _weeping_, as you call it. Go!"

Freydissa enforced her command by sending a ma.s.s of soapy cloth which she had just wrung out after the retreating Bertha. Fortunately she was a bad shot. The missile flew past its intended object, and, hitting a hen, which had ventured to intrude, on the legs, swept it with a terrific cackle into the road, to the amazement, not to say horror, of the c.o.c.k and chickens.

As Bertha disappeared Biarne entered the room--"Hallo! Freydissa, stormy weather--eh?"

"You can go outside and see for yourself," answered Freydissa angrily.

"So I mean to," returned Biarne, with a smile, "for the weather is pleasanter outside than in; but I must first presume to put the question that brought me here. Do you chance to know where Leif is this morning?"

"How should I know?"

"By having become acquainted with the facts of the case somehow,"

suggested Biarne.

"Well, then, I don't know; so you can go study the weather."

"Oho! mistress: I see that it is time we sent to Iceland for another cat!"

This allusion to her husband's former treatment of her pet was almost the only thing that could calm--or at least restrain--the storm!

Freydissa bit her lips and flushed as she went on with her was.h.i.+ng, but she said nothing more.

"Well, good-morning," said Biarne as he left the house to search for Leif.

He found him busily engaged in executing some repairs on board the "_Snake_."