Again we read:—
“When Thor had won his way into the fire castle,” (this doubtless refers to the fiery lava chambers which occur in many parts of Iceland), “he was invited to take a seat. No sooner had he done so than the seat flew to the roof of the hall, where Thor would have been crushed had he not pushed back with his staff which the giantess had given him. He pressed back so effectively that he slew the two water-storm daughters of Geirod, who had tried to blow him into the heavens.”
In this parable the reference is undoubtedly to the Geysir. Thor’s next foe was a volcano.
“Geirod now challenged Thor to fight in the hall lined with fire. Thor caught the red hot weapons in his iron gloves and hurled them back to Geirod, who vainly crouched beside a pillar to defend himself. But Thor crushed this Demon of Underground Fire back into the black rock and flung the fire caverns wide open to the day.”
Such is the ancient legend but it shows how legends are founded upon facts or conditions, which may be lost for centuries, though the legends may remain for us to scoff at when we do not know the foundation. In this instance we see the forces of water and fire contending with humans, a never ending contest between the forces of destruction and the powers of reason and intelligence.
At the head of the Öxnadalr we stopped at the post shelter for coffee and cakes and tinned tongue. The poor little farm is not worthy of the name of a farm. It is just a bit of mountain herbage at the borders of the snows and screes and the one family could not survive were is not for the assistance of the government in order that a shelter for the post carriers and chance travellers against the mountain storms may be provided.
I swapped a pony with the farmer and paid him a margin of two dollars. The horse I traded was the same that I had received in a similar trade at Ljósavatn. The farmer carefully examined the marks in the ears of the pony and stated that it was raised on this same farm and had now got home. While I am not a horse trader and know none of the intricacies of the game and had no way to learn the Icelandic methods, the satisfaction I got from this pony convinced me that the best of the bargain was mine. While the Icelander is noted for his square dealing and truthfulness I had often wondered what he would be like in a horse trade. The pony I traded had a quarter crack and I told Ólafur to point this out to the farmer. Ólafur shook his head and said,—
“He can see it as well as you.”
Later I asked Ólafur about this and enquired how he could reconcile it with the proverbial integrity of his people. He replied,—
“But this was a horse trade and every man must see what he is buying when he purchases a horse.”