Kalf.—Kolbein the Young.
Helga.—Older people ought to say that! (To THORGEIR.) But what do you most like to become, little tot? (THORGEIR comes up to her.)
Thorgeir.—Like father. (Puts a finger into his mouth.)
Helga.—Do you want to be a priest?
Thorgeir.—I want to be like my papa. (HELGA gazes at him; he retires behind his mother, concealing his face in her gown, and cries.)
Jorun.—You must not make my boy cry, lady.
Helga—You may keep that boy yourself. But give me your boy Kalf along to Flugumyr, for that would further reconciliations. I wish to be the mother of a chieftain.
Kalf.—Will you give me sword and helmet, and shield, then?
Helga.—Yes, my boy, a shield with an eagle on it.
Jorun.—A woman who herself has no children is not destined to be mother to a chieftain. My son Kalf shall never come into your hands whilst I live. I wish him to learn works of peace, and not warfare and slaughter.