He glanced down the path ahead; first a flat stretch of grass, and then over a long, stony rise. There at the top he knew was a cairn, from which one could look out over Hofsfjordur.
Somehow or other, he felt disinclined to go on, and yet there was something that urged him forward. He felt nervous and anxious, as a boy about to undertake some responsible task for the first time.
When at last he reached the summit of the slope, he stopped and looked down. There it was at last, the shore where he had spent his childhood. There lay the blue fjord, the rockiness, the glittering stream, the grassy slopes—all that he had so often thought of with affectionate longing. Ay, he had come to love it all—since he had left it.
Tears dimmed his vision as he looked. And yet he was happy. He had crossed the boundary now; he was coming home.
CHAPTER III
He had been standing for some time leaning against the cairn, when suddenly he heard a dog barking. He turned in the direction of the sound, and perceived a young man approaching. At sight of a fellow-creature, he forgot all else.
The newcomer called to his dog, and the animal was silent at once. But the voice of the stranger went to the wanderer’s heart as had never a voice before.
He limped towards him, and held out his hand, a glad smile on his wrinkled face.
The two exchanged greetings, and stood for a moment taking stock of each other. The evident emotion of the older man was not lost upon the stranger.
“A beautiful day,” said the latter after a pause.