“Do you fancy you have made a prize of a wild deer, boy?” he asked of his grandson.
“To be sure,” said Oddo.
“I thought you had had more curiosity than to take such a thing for granted, Oddo. See here! Is not this ear slit?”
“Why, yes,” Oddo admitted; “but it is not a slit of this year or last. It may have belonged to the Lapps once upon a time; but it has been wild for so long that it is all the same as if it had never been in a fold. It will never be claimed.”
“I am of your opinion there, boy. I wish you joy of your sport.”
“You may: for I doubt whether anybody will do better to-day. Hund will not, for one, if it is he who has gone out with the boat; and I think I cannot be mistaken in the handling of his oar.”
“Have you seen him? Where? What is he doing?” asked one and another.
Before Oddo could answer, Madame Erlingsen desired that he would go home with his grandfather, and tell Ulla about the deer, while he warmed himself. She did not wish her daughters to hear what he might have to tell of Hund. Stiorna too was better out of the way. Oddo had not half told the story of the deer to his grandmother, when his mistress and Erica entered.
“Did you not see M. Kollsen in the boat with Hund?” she inquired.
“No. Hund was quite alone, pulling with all his might down the fiord. The tide was with him, so that he shot along like a fish.”