“Stop!” shouted Biarne in sudden anxiety.
They all paused with the cups half-way to their lips.
“You must not drink, Freydissa,” he continued seriously. “Gudrid did call upon the girls to join her: surely ye don’t—”
He was cut short by Freydissa throwing her cup of water in his face.
With a burst of laughter Biarne fell backwards, and, partly to avoid the deluge, partly for fun, rolled out of the tent, when he got up and dried his dripping beard.
“No more of that, fair girl, I beseech thee,” he said, resuming his place and occupation. “I will not again offend—if thou wilt not again misunderstand!”
Freydissa made no reply to this, silence being her usual method of showing that she condescended to be in good humour—and they were all very merry over their evening meal. From the noise and laughter and songs around them, it was evident that the rest of the company were enjoying their first night on shore to the full, insomuch that Olaf was led, in the height of his glee, to express a wish that they could live in that free-and-easy fashion for ever.
“’Tis of no use wishing it,” observed Karlsefin; “if you would insure success you must, according to Biarne, drink it in beer.”
“I cry you mercy, skipper,” said Biarne; “if you persecute me thus I shall not be able to drink any more to-night. Hand me the jar, Thorward, and let me drink again before I come to that pass.”
“Hark!” exclaimed Gudrid, “there must be something going to happen, for all the men have become suddenly quiet.”