"Thy sons went out with them," says Bergthora.
Njal pulled his shoes on his feet, and went out at once, and round to the other side of the house, and sees that they were taking their course right up the slope; he said, "Whither away, Skarphedinn?"
"To look after thy sheep," he answers.
"You would not then be armed," said Njal, "if you meant that, and your errand must be something else."
Then Skarphedinn sang a song,
"Squanderer of hoarded wealth,
Some there are that own rich treasure,
Ore of sea that clasps the earth,
And yet care to count their sheep;
Those who forge sharp songs of mocking,
Death songs, scarcely can possess
Sense of sheep that crop the grass;
Such as these I seek in fight;"
and said afterwards, "We shall fish for salmon, father."
"'Twould be well then if it turned out so that the prey does not get away from you."
They went their way, but Njal went to his bed, and he said to Bergthora, "Thy sons were out of doors all of them, with arms, and now thou must have egged them on to something."
"I will give them my heartfelt thanks," said Bergthora, "if they tell me the slaying of Sigmund."