ne chanced to ask the question,
"Where is Snorro?" the almost invariable reply was, "Ask Olaf." In the
event of Olaf _not_ having him, it was quite unnecessary for any one to
ask where he was, because the manner in which he raged about the hamlet
shouting, howling, absolutely yelling, for "O'af!" was a sufficient
indication of his whereabouts.

It was customary for Olaf not only to tend and nurse Snorro, in a
general way, when at home, but to take him out for little walks and
rides in the forest--himself being the horse. At first these delightful
expeditions were very short, but as Snorro's legs developed, and his
mother became more accustomed to his absences, they were considerably
extended. Nevertheless a limit was marked out, beyond which Olaf was
forbidden to take him, and experience had proved that Olaf was a
trustworthy boy. It must be remembered here, that although he had grown
apace during these two years, Olaf was himself but a small boy, with the
clustering golden curls and the red chubby cheeks with which he had left
Greenland.

As we have said, then, Snorro resolved to have a walk one fine spring
morning of the year one thousand and ten--or thereabouts. In the
furtherance of his design he staggered across the hall, where Gudrid had
left him for those fatal "few minutes" during which children of all ages
and climes have invariably availed themselves of their opportunity!
Coming to a serious impediment in the shape of the door-step, he paused,
plucked up heart, and tumbled over it into the road. Gathering himself
up, he staggered onward through the village shouting his usual
cry,--"O'af! O'af! O'AF! O-o-o!" with his wonted vigour.

But "O'af" was deaf to the touching appeal. He chanced to have gone
away that morning with Biarne and Hake to visit a bear-trap. A little
black bear had been found in it crushed and dead beneath the heavy tree
that formed the _drop_ of the trap. This bear had been slung on a pole
between the two men, and the party were returning home in triumph at the
time that Snorro set up his cry, but they were not quite within earshot.

Finding that his cries were not attended to, Snorro staggered out of the
village into the forest a short way, and there, standing in the middle
of the path, began again,--"O'af! O'af! O'AF! O-o-o!"

Still there was no reply; therefore Snorro, stirred by the blood which
had descended to him through a long line of illustrious and warlike
sea-kin