Ørlygur was out and about betimes, looking to some lambs that had just arrived. It was dinner-time before he came back to the house. As he came up, he noticed that there were no men to be seen outside, though some of the ewes were in birth-throes and needing help. He attended to the most pressing cases himself, and then hurried up to the house.
Here a further surprise awaited him. All the hands, and the girls belonging to the house, stood with their boxes ready packed.
At the door he met the headman, dressed in his Sunday best and carrying a box. The man flushed a deep red at sight of his master, but tried to appear unconcerned.
Ørlygur had come up with the intention of sending out the first man he found to attend to the sheep. Now, he gave no orders, but asked instead:
“Are you leaving, then?”
“Ye—es,” stammered the man, evidently ill at ease.
“If you are not satisfied, why have you not told me before, instead of going off like this without a word in advance?”
“You never asked me to stay,” was the sullen reply.
“You have stayed on of your own accord now for twenty-two years, since I took you in as a child.”
This was undeniable. The man murmured something about having found another place.