THORSTEIN’S WELCOME.
Spilt milk, they said. His mother assured him of it. Orm nodded aye, it
was so; and the thralls, men and maids, cried “What, master Thorstein
is bad to suit: there’s mays in plenty and bonny ones too, for a
well-favoured young man like thee to light on.”
Raineach had run away, and Orm, the good brother, had followed to fetch
her back. He had tracked her with difficulty to the ship-strand near
Ulfar’s town. There he had seen her aboard a merchant ship, and there
he had spoken to her, and she had laughed and waved her hands. And that
very night a storm had come, and the ship had gone down with all aboard:
not a doubt of it there was; he could ask any one about the great storm
two winters ago was haytime; and as for this ship, why folk at Ravenside
were still using the wreckage of her for fire-elding, or were doing so in
winter. And the worst of it was that the finest of Thorstein’s clothes
and jewels, the things he had saved and left under Raineach’s charge
against the wedding, were all awanting, to the amount that a body might
bundle up and carry off without other hands or help.
Again the mother said “She bade me farewell:” and the servants said “We
spied her start:” and Orm said “I called to her on board, and she would
not come back:” and they all swore to the storm and the ship-wreck as
matters of common knowledge.
“Humph,” said Hundi Snail. “I didn’t think she’d have done it.”
Thorstein was quite beaten down, and had nothing to say. He went to
Ravenside, and saw folk burning bits of the wreck that ran upon their
sands two years ago last haytime. They remembered it well, and how
the ship folk yelled, and what a crowd of corpses drifted ashore next
morning; and oh aye, there was a lass with red hair among them no doubt:
aye, bonny lasses and all.
“She’s gone, sure enough, poor thing,” said Hundi: “but I don’t
understand it, somehow.”
“Nor I,” said Unna.
“Maybe,” said Orm, “she had some notion of meeting with Thorstein. She
was always having inklings of one thing and another, what with dreams,
what with fancies. And maybe she was taking the gear to make her wedding
with him, for she seemed a bit nicked in the head. I wouldn’t call it
stealing: what’s mine is thine, the saying is.”
“It’s kind of thee, Orm, to speak up for her,” said Thorstein: “above
all, when I think she didn’t suit thee over well.”
“Humph,” said Hundi, “very kind of Orm.”
When the seafarers’ tale was told, and all their goods shown, who but
Hundi and Thorstein were the pride of the place? Folk came from far and
near and they said that it was none but their own lads would go up and
down the round world, starting as youngsters with nought to speak of, and
landing home great strapping men who had supped with kings and fought
with earls—
“And courted the kings’ daughters, and kissed the earls’ sisters,” added
a saucy voice.
“And brought home a shipload that would be worth, I reckon, about twice
their father’s stock, beasts, thralls, and all.”
“Well, father, we always said Thorstein Sweinson was a good lad and
would turn out well.” For here was mistress Asdis Asmund’s daughter of
Asmundarlea over the fell, as blithe as ever, and bonnier, if that could
be: anyway more womanly grown, with a little motherly manner towards
Thorstein, as if she were very sorry for him,—least said soonest mended;
but she would make him forget it after a while, and then. There was
nobody but was thankful to her: for they had been dreading the day of his
return and fearing how he would take it. But Asdis was that clever, she
twisted them all round her fingers, and him in particular, as wankle as a
wet sark.
If Thorstein was moody and dismal, and he was that, Hundi was jolly
enough for both. To be home again after a three years’ voyage, and to be
made much of wherever he went, and to be master of his half share in that
rich cargo, let alone the ship and boat-stock, all this made him welcome
at every neighbour’s. As to his christening, they said he could suit
himself; it seemed that it meant money anyhow. And so it was no surprise
when Hundi begged his brothers to don their best clothes and come with
him to Mansriggs a-wooing: nor when, after the handfasting, he took land
up the Crake, and began to build him a house against the wedding.
Thorstein was glad of the job, and worked right hard for Hundi: and
before Yule they had the rearing-supper, and at Yule the wedding-feast;
and started housekeeping merrily, with a full larder and the best of good
will from all. Thorstein went to live with them as foreman of the farm,
and there was a deal to do this winter, clearing land and getting ready
a thwaite for tilling. In the spring Hundi meant to buy beasts, and
pasture them in the fell; and meanwhile he had plenty to live on.
Halldora Mani’s daughter was the name of the bride. She was a right good
sort; and Hundi was that fond of her, and she of him, that Thorstein
could not but laugh, many’s the time, as they three sat together by the
new hearth of nights. But if he laughed, he would fetch a deep sigh, and
then take a turn up and down the floor: and Halldora would get off the
knees of her goodman and go to Thorstein and bid him pluck up heart: and
she would take his arm and walk up and down a bit with him. Then Hundi
calls out from the hearth, laughing, “Now, mistress, no carryings on with
my brother: it’s me is thy man!”
“Never fear,” she answers coming back to him. “The poor boy is sore at
heart. And pity it is, when the finest lass in the country-side would
take him at the first word.”
“What? Asdis?”
“Aye would she. Many’s the time she has told me that she meant to get
him, too. And I am sure there is no cleverer, nor bonnier, nor better
bred. He might do a deal worse.”