Gunnar was very busy. He ran his hand up and down the pole. "The man who painted this machine," he said, "was a botcher. He has never so much as planed this pole. It is as rough as an earl's tongue. Just you feel it, sweetheart."
She was offended. "If you don't care to listen to me, I don't care either to observe your wagon. It is a strange way to woo a sweetheart to have her in contempt."
"My dear one," said Gunnar—and now he looked at her—"it is true that you know nothing of a man's heart, which moves him to do things rather than to talk about them. And this wagon is not mine, but Frey's, and I am to work upon it by your desire."
Her eyes filled with tears. "Ah," she said, "do I not know whose wagon it is? Is this a time to remind me of it?" Gunnar looked quickly about him. Nobody was by. So then he went to Sigrid, and put his hand on her shoulder.
"Don't cry, pretty one," he said, "otherwise there will be the mischief between Frey and me." Then he kissed her; and that was the first time that ever he did it, strange as it may appear. She sat very still, and all drawn up into a bunch, as if she felt chilly, which she did for a minute. Then she went into Frey's house and stayed there for a good time. Gunnar shook his head, and went to fetch the tools that he needed for cleaning the paint off the wagon.
He took a long time over it, and was very happy to be so busy. He cleaned off all the old paint, which was many coats thick, and smoothed the wood to his fancy. Then he set to work with new colours and was at it many days from dawn to dusk. It began to look very splendid, with a green ground, and yellow wheels and pole, and with flowers, trees, birds and beasts upon all that in blue, red and white. He painted also the sky and the sun and rivers winding among meadows. Then he had the sea, with ships upon it, because Sigrid did not know what the sea was like. And he wrote runes all round the panels of the wagon, sayings such as were common in his country, such as Bare is Back without Brother Behind it, and so on.
Sigrid was much the better for being kissed, though she was very careful not to say so. She thought that Gunnar would not perceive it, but he did. Her eyes were larger and softer; her colour was higher; she was quieter in her ways, not so restless, and certainly not so testy. She used to sit contentedly with her curtains while he worked at his painting, and could now admire what he did. She talked no more about the difference between a man's heart and a woman's, perhaps because she knew more. It was not hard to discern these changes in her.
"This wagon," said Gunnar, "is a paragon. It is my masterpiece." The time had come when all was done, even to the hangings of Frey's bed, and the containing boards of the same.
"Now, sweetheart," said he, "it is for you to consider whether we shall not give your lord a lick of paint. To my eye he would be the better for it, but you know his fancy better than I do."
She said shortly, "He is well enough." She could not bear his jokes about Frey just now.