"I see that you cherish fears for the future, cousin. What do you advise?"
"I advise that you stay here with Leif and as many of your servants as can be safely spared from home. We should be prepared for everything. In times like these most unexpected things can happen."
"I will follow your advice, as I always did. Do you think of seeking light on the future from the gods?"
"One should not trouble the gods before necessity demands it. But we should offer them sacrifices diligently and without stint."
It was only a week since Rodmar and Leif had driven home from the winter festival at Orn's. But for Ingolf and Leif it had been a long week. They had found it difficult to be apart. They had had a cushion drawn up to the fire and lay there on their stomachs right opposite each other, each with a host of things to ask about and report.
Leif was a tall, loose-knit fellow with a long, bony face, browned with freckles and discoloured by wind and weather. He had a large nose, and a broad mouth with thick lips. The expression of his sparkling grey eyes changed suddenly, and constantly shifted from close attention to distant dreaminess, from icy coldness to beaming warmth. Red curly hair hung in long locks down both sides of his smiling face.
When the most important news had been told, he could keep quiet no longer. With a teasing look in his eyes, he stretched his head forward and asked in a whisper: "Say, Ingolf—did your gods dine on the Yule meat?"
Ingolf gave a start of annoyance. His smile disappeared, and over his face spread an expression of vexed seriousness. He looked anxiously round, but discovered to his relief that no one was listening.
He made no answer, but looked angrily and warningly at Leif. Leif laughed softly and in a contented fashion. Then he made a funnel of his hands and whispered again: "They are fat, overfed animals, your gods!" He laughed deep down in his stomach, enjoying Ingolf's wrath.