“Dost thou dislike him?”
“That is neither here nor there. He is a Scot. I may marry like the rest of the world, but while my life days last, Sunna Vedder will not marry a Scot.”
“Yes––but there was some talk that way. My aunt heard it. My aunt hears everything.”
“I will tell thee, talk that way was all lies. No 152 one will Sunna Vedder marry, that is not of her race.” Then she put her arms round Eric, and kissed his wan face, calling him “her own little Norseman!”
“Tell me, Sunna, what is happening in the town?” said he.
“Well, then, not much now. Men are talking of the war, and going to the war, and empty is the town. About the war, art thou sorry?”
“No, I am glad–––
|
“How glorious the valiant, sword in hand, In front of battle for their native land!” |
And he raised his small, thin hands, and his face glowed, and he looked like a young St. Michael.
Then Max lifted the globe and books aside and put his chair close to his brother’s. “Eric has the soul of a soldier,” he said, “and the sound of drums and trumpets stirs him like the cry of fire.”