“Turning to the celestial city, to infinite serenities, to love without limit, to perfect joy.”
The next evening Peter and Suneva and Dr. Balloch sat around Jan’s hearth, and talked of all that he had seen and done during his absence. “But where is Michael Snorro?” asked the doctor. “I thought to have heard him talk to-night.”
“Snorro stays by the yacht. His quarters are on her, and she is in his charge. No one finds Snorro far from the post of duty,” answered Jan proudly. “He is the best sailor in her Majesty’s service, and the best fighter.”
“That is likely,” said Peter. “Since the days of Harold Halfager, the Snorros have been called good fighters.”
“And why not?” asked Suneva, with a proud toss of her handsome head. “He is 318 pure Norse. Will a Norseman turn from any fight in a good cause? That he will not Peter, there is none can tell us better what the Norseman is than thou can. Speak out now, for Jan and the minister will be glad to hear thee.”
Every Shetlander can recite. Suneva had taught Peter to believe that no one could recite as well as he could; so he laid down his pipe, and, with great spirit and enthusiasm, spoke thus:
“A swarthy strength with face of light,
As dark sword-iron is beaten bright;
A brave, frank look, with health aglow,
Bonny blue eyes and open brow;