He went forward and gave the order to relieve the men who had rowed from the land, and when the fresh men were on the benches he returned and bade Kettle go on.
“’Tis a fine country,” said the Irishman, glancing round him with a glowing eye, and speaking in a low tone, as if to himself—“one to be proud of.”
And in truth there was ground for his remark, for the mists had by that time entirely cleared away, leaving unveiled a sea so calm and bright that the innumerable islets off the coast appeared as if floating in air.
“That is true,” said Thorer. “I sometimes wonder, Kettle, at thy longing to return to Ireland. I am in the same case with thyself—was taken from my home in Jemteland, laboured as a thrall, wrought out my freedom, and remained in Haldor’s service, but have never wished to return home.”
“Didst thou leave a wife and children behind thee?” asked Kettle.
“Nay; I was carried away while very young.”
“Is thy father alive, or thy mother?”
“No, they are both dead.”
“Then I wonder not that ye have no desire to return home. My father and mother are both alive—at least I have good reason to believe so—my wife and children are waiting for me. Canst wonder, man, that I long to behold once more the green hills of Ireland?”
“Nay, if that be so, I wonder not,” replied Thorer.