“We have done a great injustice to your father. You will not forbid us now to make amends as far as we can. Had he lived, we should have come to him, to ask his forgiveness. And for all that you are his son, you know him little if you think he would have sent us away unheard. He was too generous for that.”
Ormarr saw that there were tears in the man’s eyes. He glanced round the circle, and saw everywhere bowed heads and evident distress. And suddenly he remembered his father’s dream.
“True,” he said. “It is your right to pay him the last honour on earth. Carry him home.”
A bier was found, and the party moved off, with Ormarr at the head. Alma, with eyes staring blankly before her, walked between him and old Kata.
All the others, men, women, and children, followed on foot, leading their horses. Never had the parish seen so impressive a funeral train, nor such a numerous following.
They moved but slowly, step by step, all the long road to Borg, the men relieving one another at the bier. As soon as the body was lifted up, they commenced with one accord to sing the beautiful funeral hymn:
“Alt eins og blomstrid eina.”
They sang through all the verses, and when it was ended, another hymn was sung; afterwards, the first again.
Singing and sobbing, the procession moved on—a strange sight to see. The birds circled round the train in silence, forgetting for a moment their spring song. But the sky was clear and blue as before.
So they passed along the way. When they reached the river, Ormarr took Alma and Kata in his arms and carried them across. The men waded over likewise, leading their horses; only the women and children crossed on horseback.