Amidst these friendly words, the old man and his grandson put off once more alone, making straight for the islet. Of the two Peder was the greater hero, for he saw the most ground for fear.
"Promise me, Oddo," said he, "not to take advantage of my not seeing. As sure as you observe anything strange, tell me exactly what you see."
"I will, grandfather. There is nothing yet but what is so beautiful that I could not for the life of me find out anything to be afraid of."
Oddo rowed stoutly too for some way, and then he stopped to ask on what side the remains of a birch ladder used to hang down, as Peder had often told him.
"On the north side, but there is no use in looking for that, my boy. That birch ladder must have rotted away with frost and wet long and long ago."
"It is likely," said Oddo, "but, thinking that some man must have put it there, I should like to see whether it really is impossible for one with a strong hand and light foot to mount this wall. I brought our longest boat-hook on purpose to try. Where a ladder hung before, a foot must have climbed; and if I mount, Rolf may have mounted before me."
It chilled Peder's heart to remember the aspect of the precipice which his boy talked of climbing; but he said nothing, feeling that it would be in vain. This forbearance touched Oddo's feelings.
"I will run into no folly, trust me," said he. "I do not forget that you depend on me for getting home, and that the truth about Nipen and such things depends for an age to come on our being seen at home again safe. But I have a pretty clear notion that Rolf is somewhere on the top there."
"Suppose you call him, then."
Oddo had much rather catch him. He pictured to himself the pride and pleasure of mastering the ascent, the delight of surprising Rolf asleep in his solitude, and the fun of standing over him to waken him, and witness his surprise. He could not give up the attempt to scale the rock, but he would do it very cautiously.