“I dare say not,” said Aud. “I never thought so either.”
“It stands beyond question she was more than canny,” says Finnward, shaking his head. “No manner of doubt but what she was ancient of mind.”
“She was getting pretty old in body, too,” says Aud.
“Wife,” says he, “it comes in upon me strongly this is no kind of woman to disobey; above all, being dead and her walking. I think, wife, we must even do as she commanded.”
“Now what is ever your word?” says she, riding up close and setting her hand upon his shoulder. “‘The goodwife’s pleasure must be done’; is not that my Finnward?”
“The good God knows I grudge you nothing,” cried Finnward. “But my blood runs cold upon this business. Worse will come of it!” he cried, “worse will flow from it!”
“What is this todo?” cries Aud. “Here is an old brimstone hag that should have been stoned with stones, and hated me besides. Vainly she tried to frighten me when she was living; shall she frighten me now when she is dead and rotten? I trow not. Think shame to your beard, goodman! Are these a man’s shoes I see you shaking in, when your wife rides by your bridle-hand, as bold as nails?”
“Ay, ay,” quoth Finnward. “But there goes a byword in the country: Little wit, little fear.”
At this Aud began to be concerned, for he was usually easier to lead.