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.”