It lay at his feet. A large sack it was, and full of somewhat heavy and warm that seemed to move a little when I put my hand on it. Still less did I like the business as I felt that.
“More also!” quoth my father, as if thinking of the king’s last words. “If that does not mean a halter for my neck, I am mistaken. What have we here, son, do you think?”
“Somewhat that should not be here, certainly,” I answered. “There would not be so much talk about drowning a dog, as one might think this to be.”
“Unless it were his wife’s,” answered my father, with a laugh.
Then he stooped, and I helped him to get the sack on his shoulders. It was heavy, but not very—not so heavy as a young calf in a sack would be; and he carried it easily, taking my spear to help him.
“The thrall is even going to take this to the house of Grim the merchant, whom the king will not know again, though he may see in the dark,” said he; “then we shall know how we stand.”
We met no one on our way back, for the town had gone to sleep, until the watchman passed the time of night with us, thinking no doubt that we had fish or goods in the burden. And when we came home a sleepy thrall opened to us, for all were at rest save him. And he too went his way to the shed where his place was when he had stirred the fire to a blaze and lit a torch that we might see to eat the supper that was left for us.
Then we were alone, and while I set Arngeir’s weapons in a corner, my father put down the sack, and stood looking at it. It seemed to sway a little, and to toss as it settled down. And now that there was light it was plain that the shape of what was inside it was strangely like that of a child, doubled up with knees to chin, as it showed through the sacking.
“Hodulf or no Hodulf,” said my father, “I am going to see more of this.”
With that he took a knife from the table and cut the cord that fastened the mouth, turning back the sack quickly.