Bjönn waited. He wanted the man to go with him to the Morsæter Hut. It was not as it should be that his master remained in bed day after day without moving, and without getting up.
“You be off and find your master,” said the wood-cutter, making as if to chase him with one arm. “You go along after Sjur.”
Bjönn only cocked his ears and remained.
“Fool,” said the man; “changeling,” he said.
Evening came, and the man met two of his mates at their hut. Bjönn was still with him, and they soon agreed that he must have lost his way, and God only knew where his master was.
Then the wood-cutter told the others of the dog’s strange behaviour when he first arrived. One of the men, who had much beard, many years and much experience, said thoughtfully:
“It can’t be possible that something wrong has happened to Gaupa?”
“Certainly not,” the first one replied. “No wrong’d ever befall Gaupa, he who is for ever making his bed under the nearest tree. Gaupa can look after himself, no doubt about that.”
Bjönn had been sitting still near the door, but then he scratched to get out. The door was opened and fastened again. Pork spluttered in a pan, a kettleful of coffee boiled over and vomited at the spout.