"Judge for yourself, sir. Instead of the old open boats we have sixty smacks, manned by twenty men apiece, and going as far as six days out and home again."
"Then the people were right, after all, who used to say the old trade was doomed and the water was to be the wealth of Iceland?"
"They were that, sir," said the merchant, inflating his chest and pulling down his waistcoat. "Everybody has benefited by the change, and I shouldn't be surprised if you find your own people better off than when you left them--that is to say, if they are still alive."
"If they're still alive," said Christian Christiansson, dropping both voice and eyes.
"By the way, were you at home in Governor Stephen's time, Mr. Christiansson?" asked the captain.
"Well, yes, Captain, yes, I was at home then," said Christian Christiansson, with a momentary faltering in his voice.
"In that case you must have seen the beginning of the end. The old Governor tried to resist the change, and lived with a sword over his head all his latter days, poor devil."
"A wise old man, though, wasn't he?" said Christian Christiansson--he could scarcely trust himself to speak. "Wise?" said the merchant, with a curl of the lip. "No man is wise who will not be warned, and he had warning enough. But it was his sons who settled him."
Christian Christiansson looked up with a start. "Ah, yes, of course, his sons, he had two sons, I remember. What became of them?"
"One of them is living at Thingvellir still."