The factor was upset and he saw that he had set about it clumsily.
He went over to the dogged youngster, patted his head and, with a
nod to the cook, led little Snjolfur into the dining-room.
Have you never seen your father give his visitors a drink or offer
them a cup of coffee when they came to see him? he asked, and he
gave his words a resentful tone.
Little Snjolfur had to confess that his father had sometimes offered
hospitality to a visitor.
There you are then, said the factor. It's just ordinary good manners
to offer hospitality--and to accept it. Refusing a well-meant
invitation for no reason can mean the end of a friendship. You are a
visitor here, so naturally I offer you something to eat: we have
made an important deal and, what's more, we have come to terms over
a job. If you won't accept ordinary hospitality, it's hard to see
how the rest is going to work out.
The boy sighed: of course, it must be as the factor said. But he was
in a hurry. Snjolfur was by himself out on the Point. His eyes
wandered round the room--then he added, very seriously: The point is
to pay your debts, not owe anybody anything, and trust in
Providence.
There was never a truer word spoken, agreed the factor, and as he
said it he pulled his handkerchief out of his pocket. He's a chip of
the old block, he muttered, and putting his hand on little
Snjolfur's shoulder, he blessed him.
The boy was astonished to see a grown man with tears in his eyes.
Snjolfur never cried, he said, and went on: I haven't cried either
since I was little--I nearly did when I knew Snjolfur was dead. But
I was afraid he wouldn't like it, and I stopped myself.
A moment later and tears overwhelmed little Snjolfur.--It is a
consolation, albeit a poor one, to lean for a while on the bosom of
a companion.