"We do not," they said, "for that would be waste of breath."
"So it would," said Gunnar, "and so also if the wind blow from the south. For then the rain will come of itself."
"That would be Frey's doing, we hold," said they. Then Gunnar smiled. "You are lucky," he said, "and so is Frey."
They always took Frey back after the feasts, two or three men bearing him up between them; and many a tumble they had in the snowdrifts, if they were not very surefooted, through drink or otherwise. One night when they had some way to go Gunnar picked up Sigrid and carried her through the worst of the drifts.
"Oh, you should not, you should not," she said; but he laughed. "You are so small a thing," he said, "it would be a shame."
But she hid her face in his shoulder and said again that he should not carry her. He had a great mind to kiss her, but he did not do it just then.
"Well," said he, "let your husband carry you." And he called out, "Hi you, Frey, come and carry Sigrid through the snow."
But just then Frey and his bearers were all rolling in the snow together. "You see how it is with poor Frey," Gunnar said. "He has had too much to drink and can't carry himself, so what would he do if he had you too?"
After that he got into the way of carrying her, and she grew accustomed to it, looked for it, and held her arms out for him to lift her when they came out of the feast.
Gunnar enjoyed himself, but did not tell her so, or speak of it at all. He took it as a thing of course that he should serve her, and she accepted it. But there was no love-making, even though the days were dark, and there was nothing to be done out of doors. He said to himself, "She is Frey's wife, or believes herself so. I don't care a flick of the fingers for Frey, but for her I do care."