"And such gods! A decrepit, one-eyed old creature, who has to get his wisdom from ravens! And a stupid braggart who is so poor that he has to drive with goats because he has no horse."
Ingolf clenched his fists and pressed his chin down hard on his whitening knuckles.
"Hold your tongue, Leif!" he said threateningly, in reply.
Leif laughed as before. Then he sprang up suddenly. By their side stood Helga, Ingolf's sister, a slim young girl with long, light-yellow hair, shining blue eyes, a small bright face, and a happy smile on her childish mouth. Leif, whose gladness at meeting again this girl friend of his own age beamed from his face and was visibly impressed on his whole bearing, embraced her, and saluted her with a kiss. Then he suddenly let her go, grew red and embarrassed, and began in his confusion to kick the burning logs.
Helga watched his action with quiet, smiling eyes. "You are scorching your boots, Leif," she said, and laughed softly.
He stood straight up, turned towards her, and looked at her. And the smile in her eyes put his embarrassment to flight. Immediately he was himself again. Beaming over his whole face, he seized her two hands and swung her arms apart.
"I should give you greetings from the cat and from old Jorun. I have nearly forgotten to do so. The cat caught a huge quantity of mice at Yuletide, and then became fat and lazy—just like old Jorun, but she can't bear to be told so."
"Surely you haven't said so to her."
"Yes. I couldn't help seeing it. And when I saw it, I couldn't help saying it."
"You ought to be ashamed of yourself, Leif. Have you forgotten how kind old Jorun has been to you since you lost your mother, and how many stories she has told us?"