A calm, sunny day. The old man trudged along the valley, leaning on the
girl’s arm. Her golden hair and his white locks shone like haloes round
their heads.
Now and again a flock of ptarmigan rose at their feet. Already the birds
had shed their brown plumage and donned their winter coats of white.
It seemed as if summer were loth to bid farewell. The sea was calm, and
the river flowed smoothly on its way; the lakes lay still as mirrors,
reflecting the hills around and the blue sky above. No sound was heard
from the homesteads but the occasional neigh of a horse or the barking
of a dog. Even the rocks seemed less bleak and bare than usual, lapped
as they were now in the warm rays of the sun. All seemed intent on
looking its best at the last—the last it might be, for another day might
bring cold winds and wintry gales, ushering in snow and ice.
The old man and the girl had gone some distance on their way when they
came to a grassy slope that seemed inviting them to rest and look out
over the scene. Somewhat shyly, the girl took out a packet of food and
offered him.
“Now, that is your breakfast you have packed up here,” said the old man
as he opened it.
“I am not hungry,” said the girl bravely, but the effort was plain to be
seen.
Guest the One-eyed stroked her head and began to eat; he succeeded,
however, in persuading her to share with him.
When they had finished, he asked her:
“Will you not turn back now? It is a long way home already.”
She looked at him pleadingly. “Oh, I will run all the way home. I am
never tired—and I should like to see you within sight of the next
homestead.”
“I am glad to have you—but we had better go on. We must not lose more
time sitting here.”
He made no motion to rise, however, and for a while they sat in silence.
Then he asked:
“Did you ever hear of one Sera Ketill, once priest of this parish, many
years ago?”
The girl burst into tears, and sat crying quietly. He put no further
question, but after a little said quietly:
“Have I hurt you, child? I would not have done that.”
“That—that was his father,” she answered, sobbing. “Did you not know?”
“Yes, I knew,” he answered.
“And they all say unkind things and hate him,” she went on, still
sobbing passionately. “He drowned himself because he had been so wicked
he couldn’t bear it—all the sorrow that came after. Threw himself over
the cliff, they say; he was seen there the night after his father died
in the church.
“And he left a will giving all he had to the poor, but they say it was
only to make them sorry for the hard things they had said, and pray for
his soul. And they never would forgive him, and they say the Evil One
has taken him, because the body was never found. Isn’t it cruel! And all
that was twenty years ago, and all that time no one has ever thought
kindly of him once—only me, and I couldn’t help it. His father.... I
don’t know if _he_ ever thinks of him. And yet he must, since it was his
father....”
Gradually the girl became more composed. Her companion sat quietly, with
tears in his eyes.
Suddenly she raised her tear-stained face towards him and asked:
“Do you hate him, too?”
Guest the One-eyed looked her straight in the face as he answered:
“For twenty years my life has been spent in seeking God’s mercy and
forgiveness towards him.”
The girl’s eyes lit with pleasure.
“Then you knew him? And were you fond of him?”
The man was silent for a moment. Then he said:
“Sera Ketill is not dead.”
“Oh, thank God for that! Is it really true?”
“God bless you, child, that you are glad to hear it. Yes, it is true. He
is yet a wanderer on earth, and penitent.”
“Is he very far away? Shall I ever see him?”
“Not very far away. But ask no more just now.”
They walked on until a fertile valley lay before them.
Close by was a small farm; other homesteads were scattered about not far
off.
The old man slung his sack over his shoulder.
“Shall I never see you again?” asked the girl, her eyes filling with
tears.
“You like me, then?”
“I love you. Every one loves and blesses you. If I had a father, I
should wish him to be like you.”
“But—I am only a beggar.”
“There is no shame in that,” answered the girl in surprise, “for one
like you.”
“Shall I bring Sera Ketill your greeting if I see him?”
“Yes, and tell him that I pray for him always.”
“Do you think you can get home now before dark?”
“Yes, indeed; I am not tired at all now. Good-bye.” And she gave him her
hand.
“Good-bye,” he said, “and God be with you.”
The girl hurried off in the direction of home, and Guest the One-eyed
turned towards the farm.