“I will do what I can,” replied Thorward, “and I would advise that Olaf should go with me, that his glowing descriptions may tempt his father to come.”
“Nay; that would spoil all,” objected Karlsefin, “for, having had a sight of his son he would be content to let him come back alone. No, no; we will keep Olaf here as a bait to tempt him. But go now and make your arrangements, for you set sail as soon as the ship is ready.”
Not long after that the Snake left her anchorage with a full cargo, rowed down the river, hoisted sail, and bore away for Greenland.
While she was gone an event of deep and absorbing interest occurred in Vinland.
One fine morning in autumn the heart of the entire hamlet was moved by the sound of a new voice! It was not a musical voice—rather squawky, indeed, than otherwise—and it was a feeble voice, that told of utter helplessness. In short, a son had been born to Karlsefin and Gudrid, and they called him Snorro. We record it with regret—for it went a long way to prove that, in regard to sweet sounds, Karlsefin and his wife were destitute of taste. It is our business, however, to record facts rather than to carp at them, therefore we let Snorro pass without further comment.
The little body that was attached to the little voice, although far from beautiful at first, was an object of intense affection to the parents, and of regard, almost amounting to veneration, to the rugged men by whom it was surrounded. Bertha declared enthusiastically that it was “perfectly lovely,” although it was obvious to all unprejudiced eyes that it resembled nothing so much as a piece of wrinkled beef of bad colour! Astrid declared that it had “such a wise look,” despite the evident fact that its expression was little short of idiotical! Karlsefin said nothing, but he smiled a good deal, and chucked it under the place where its chin ought to have been with his great forefinger in a timid way.
But when Snorro was deemed sufficiently far advanced in life to be handed out for public exhibition, then it was that the greatest number of falsehoods were uttered, with the quietest deliberation, although, to say truth, the greater number of the men said nothing, but contented themselves with taking the infant in their big rough hands as delicately as if they thought it was a bubble, and feared that it might burst and leave nothing to be handed back to Thora, who acted the part of nurse. Others merely ventured to look at it silently with their hairy lips parted and their huge eyes gazing in blank admiration.
Perhaps Krake made the most original remark in reference to the newcomer. “Ah,” said he quite seriously, touching its cheek as softly as though he half feared it would bite, “only to think that myself was like that once!”
This was received with a shout of laughter, so loud that little Snorro was startled.
“Ah, then,” cried Krake, with a look of great alarm, “what is it going to do?”