Old Ossa was deeply concerned, but strove to hide her sympathy; Ørlygur was not pleased to find himself looked on as a helpless creature, and was apt to turn on her impatiently when he suspected her of overmuch anxiety on his behalf. He would not be looked after like a child. If she ventured to dry his socks at the fire, instead of hanging them to air in the ordinary way, he would keep his wet ones on. And when she tried to substitute new mittens for his old and tattered ones, he gave up wearing mittens at all.
“Getting old I may be,” he grumbled, “but I’m not an old woman yet.”
Then at last one day the ship hove in sight round the point.
Ørlygur hurried about, active as a boy, saddled his horses, forgot all his troubles, and astonished old Ossa by humming, all unconsciously, a fragment of a song, that he kept repeating over and over again.
And as soon as he was ready, off he rode to fetch his son home.
Sera Ketill had likewise been awaiting the arrival of the vessel with impatience, and had horses ready.
As soon as he saw it had arrived, he hurried to his wife.
“Ormarr and his wife have arrived—the ship is just coming in. Get ready as quickly as you can. We must go down to the quay and bid them welcome.”
Alma looked at him in surprise; something in his manner filled her with vague anxiety.