The widow stood for some minutes waving to her. And when Bagga turned to look once more, before passing over the last ridge of hills that would shut out the sight of her home, her mother stood there still, a grey, forsaken figure on the autumn landscape. The sight went to her heart.
CHAPTER VII
Ørlygur had left the churchyard with a smile on his face after his unfriendly remark to the priest about Borgarfjall and silly sheep. But the smile soon vanished.
“That was childish of me,” he reflected. “Whatever made me say it, I wonder? And now I suppose I shall have to scramble up there one day, and very likely break my neck. No need to do it really, of course. But, then, that would be rather mean again. I seem to be getting that way of late.”
Suddenly he perceived the doctor standing before him.
“Two and two are four,” said the latter, with a gleam of kindly mischief in his eyes.
Ørlygur looked up at him uncomprehendingly.
“Don’t be offended,” said the doctor. “But really, you know, any one could see that a man walking about with such a scowl on his face was not sorrowing for the dead. Looks much more as if he were busy with some mathematical problem or other.”
Ørlygur tried to smile.
“How would you like to make the ascent of Borgarfjall?” he asked jestingly.