CHAPTER IX
A calm, sunny day. The old man trudged along the valley, leaning on the girl’s arm. Her golden hair and his white locks shone like haloes round their heads.
Now and again a flock of ptarmigan rose at their feet. Already the birds had shed their brown plumage and donned their winter coats of white.
It seemed as if summer were loth to bid farewell. The sea was calm, and the river flowed smoothly on its way; the lakes lay still as mirrors, reflecting the hills around and the blue sky above. No sound was heard from the homesteads but the occasional neigh of a horse or the barking of a dog. Even the rocks seemed less bleak and bare than usual, lapped as they were now in the warm rays of the sun. All seemed intent on looking its best at the last—the last it might be, for another day might bring cold winds and wintry gales, ushering in snow and ice.
The old man and the girl had gone some distance on their way when they came to a grassy slope that seemed inviting them to rest and look out over the scene. Somewhat shyly, the girl took out a packet of food and offered him.
“Now, that is your breakfast you have packed up here,” said the old man as he opened it.
“I am not hungry,” said the girl bravely, but the effort was plain to be seen.
Guest the One-eyed stroked her head and began to eat; he succeeded, however, in persuading her to share with him.
When they had finished, he asked her:
“Will you not turn back now? It is a long way home already.”