He had wound his cape twice round him, yet the cold penetrated it. He felt frozen and shivered, but did not mind. It even had a certain soothing effect on him to be so cold that his teeth chattered. Immediately afterwards he had forgotten himself, and began thinking again of Leif.
Hitherto he had always felt vexed that Leif was not like others. Now he realized suddenly that, in spite of all, he did not want to have Leif otherwise. Such as he was, he was just Leif, and his friend. On his side the friendship was certainly not past. If he met Leif again, they would become friends afresh. He knew that Leif was always ready for reconciliation so soon as he had worked off his rage.
No, Leif was not like others. There was no doubt that he was a good and skilful ski-runner. He was always inventing new tricks and difficult feats. Wherever he found a rock or a hill he must attempt it. Not even the steepest descents made him pause. The fact that he had one fall after another, each worse than the preceding one, had no effect upon him at all. Leif did not like learning by experience. And, strangely enough, he had never had any serious accident. When Ingolf had once reproached him for his mad foolhardiness, he had merely replied that he trusted his luck blindly for so long as Fate had allotted it to him, and not a step further! He was obviously not in the least interested as to where the limit was set. One might be vexed at it, but it was not of the slightest use. He had an incredible faculty for getting into desperate situations, and after all saving his skin.
The cause probably was that he was not merely a little unreasonable. In that case he would hardly have completed his twelve winters. He was, on the contrary, so boundlessly unreasonable that it seemed as though the reasonable penalties which always pursued Ingolf and all others never exactly knew where to find Leif, and therefore could not strike him.
Ingolf could not explain it to himself in any other way. There was, for example, the adventure with the bear. It was a year ago now, but he was likely to remember it as long as he lived. They had heard from the people in the farm that there was a bear's lair up on the heath, a place about which they only knew that it would be found in the neighbourhood of two hills which had been described to them. They were continually thinking and talking about the bear's lair, and could not get away from the subject. Both of them had a great desire to see the place. But Ingolf's desire was of the quiet kind which is compatible with patience. In his opinion there was no need to go and scent out a bear's lair when one was grown big and could receive him when he presented himself. Leif's desire, on the other hand, was measureless and insatiable. "If you don't come, I will go alone," he said. So Ingolf went with him. They set out from the place one morning in late summer; they trudged far, found no hill nor bear's lair, but, on the other hand, came across a slope covered with bilberries, the like of which they had never seen. Immediately Ingolf was aware of a high-pitched voice within, which shouted, "Bilberries! Bilberries!" And that Leif must have heard a similar voice was easy to see. Crouching to the earth they went and gathered bilberries with both hands, eating the little bitter leaves along with them without hesitation, when they found opposite them a bear who was also eating bilberries. For a moment Ingolf remained standing, staring at a bear with a blue snout; then he came to his senses and fled for all he was worth. Not till he had run a long way did it occur to him that Leif was not with him, and that he was not pursued. He stood still and looked round, prepared to see the bear coming after him with Leif in his stomach and hungering for more provender of a similar kind. What he did see was almost more terrible. There on the bilberry-slope stood Leif and the bear confronting each other. Ingolf stood thunderstruck. Why did not the bear eat Leif? He did not understand it, did not see that there could be anything else to wait for. As though rooted to the spot, he remained standing and staring, and could not stir. It seemed to him as if several days had passed when at last something happened—the bear sneaked off. He could not trust his own eyes! Yes, the bear trudged away from the bilberry-slope and left Leif alone with the berries. And Leif quite quietly resumed his gathering of bilberries. Ingolf did not understand it. He found the occurrence so unintelligible that he believed the whole must be a dream. He was soon made aware of his mistake. In dreams one is accustomed to glide comfortably through the air, but he had just to climb back on his weary legs to Leif. When Ingolf got near him, he stood and looked at him, and was astonished to see nothing remarkable about him. And so he remained standing for a time. There was something which needed explaining before he could go on with the bilberry-picking. At last he asked: "Why didn't you run?"
"Do you think one can run from a bear?" Leif answered quite quietly and as a matter of course. "What would be the use of that? No, I made him think that I was not afraid of him. And at last I really was not any more. So he got tired of standing and staring, and went his way." Such was Leif, and such was his method with bears. Was it easy to understand him? How could one get the mind with which to understand him? Ingolf answered himself with a meditative, negative shake of the head. And the adventure with the bear was by no means unique. He remembered another incident of the same summer. He lived through it again in his need to occupy himself with Leif, and yet at the same time forget that Leif at that very moment might be hunted by wolves.
They had agreed together that it was time they learnt to swim. Naturally it was just when no one had time to teach them. But that kind of trifle had no decisive weight for Leif when he had got a fixed idea in his head. One of Orn's servants, so he informed Ingolf, who was a good swimmer, had shown him that he had only to move his arms and legs in such and such a way and keep afloat. Leif straightway laid himself across a piece of timber in the courtyard and showed Ingolf how to move his arms and legs. Thus; and thus!—that was all! It did not seem very difficult to Ingolf. But suppose one sank in spite of all? But Leif was unwearied in his persuasions—oh, it was ever so easy. You simply scooped up the water with your arms and kicked with your legs—that was all. At last Leif made him lie on the piece of timber and taught him the strokes. So! and so! Kick out strongly! Stretch your arms properly! Now, I bet we swim like a pair of seals as soon as we get in the water. Now let us go!
They went down to the Fjord. On the way he made Leif promise that first they should not go farther than where they could touch the bottom. Otherwise he said he would not go. Leif promised, and swore in addition. As soon as they got near the shore, Leif had his clothes off and stood naked and careless and stretched himself in the sun. Ingolf stood and looked at the water, and was a good while unclasping his belt. Leif jumped about and hurried him on, but at last would not wait any more. As a matter of course, he had either forgotten his promise or did not choose to keep it. Instead of wading out where he could reach the bottom he ran out on a rock, flung his arms over his head, launched away, and was off.
Ingolf, still with most of his clothes on, ran out on the rock with his heart in his mouth. Down there lay Leif; the water had swallowed him. He lay and worked his arms and legs. Now he approached the surface; now his head bobbed up. But only for a moment. His arms and legs moved very much as when he rode. But either he could not manage the swimming-strokes or they were no use. In any case, the water would not support him. He went to the bottom again.