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 mass 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 cock 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 washing, 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_."

"I have a thought in my head," said Biarne.

"Out with it then," replied Leif, wiping his brow, "because thoughts, if
kept long in the brain, are apt to hatch, and the chicken-thoughts are
prone to run away at the moment of birth, and men have a tendency to
chase the chickens, to the utter forgetting of the original hens! What
is thy thought, Biarne?"

"That I should take as many of the men as you can spare," he replied,
"and go off by water to reinforce Karlsefin."

"That is strange," said Leif. "I