“I reared those from the shell,” interrupted honest Byarnie, his big face all smiles. “And I’ve reared many such.”
“Byarnie,” said Claude, “you’ll come with me, and look after these birds, eh?”
Byarnie jumped and laughed, clapped his hand upon his leg, and jumped and laughed again, and then went skipping round with all the grace of an infant elephant, till Claude and Meta also laughed to see his uncouth exuberance.
“My brother will come here, and my sister too, and look after the house and farm,” he cried. “He! he! ho! ho! Byarnie’s the happiest man ’tween Reykjavik and Christiansund.”
Day after day went by, but still Claude was at the little capital of Iceland, or with Meta. He was waiting the arrival of the mail: she had broken a shaft or something, and eager and able though he was to get away to the land of the Northern Lights and the sea of ice, he did not begrudge himself the respite.
The mail was sighted and signalled at last, however, and came puffing and blowing in.
Claude had letters from his employers and from many a friend, but none from his mother.
But Janet’s letter must in some measure have made up for this, else he would not have ridden right away out to Meta’s dwelling.
Ah, well, it was their last day together anyhow!
There they were together now whom seas would soon sunder—two warm, loving, hoping hearts. Would they ever meet again?