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Functional Programming: A
PragPub Anthology
Exploring Clojure, Elixir, Haskell, Scala, and Swift

by Michael Swaine, and the PragPub writers

Version: P1.0 (July 2017)

Copyright © 2017 The Pragmatic Programmers, LLC. This book is licensed to the
individual who purchased it. We don't copy-protect it because that would limit your
ability to use it for your own purposes. Please don't break this trust—you can use this
across all of your devices but please do not share this copy with other members of
your team, with friends, or via file sharing services. Thanks.

Many of the designations used by manufacturers and sellers to distinguish their

products are claimed as trademarks. Where those designations appear in this book,
and The Pragmatic Programmers, LLC was aware of a trademark claim, the
designations have been printed in initial capital letters or in all capitals. The Pragmatic
Starter Kit, The Pragmatic Programmer, Pragmatic Programming, Pragmatic
Bookshelf and the linking g device are trademarks of The Pragmatic Programmers,
LLC.

Every precaution was taken in the preparation of this book. However, the publisher
assumes no responsibility for errors or omissions, or for damages that may result from
the use of information (including program listings) contained herein.
About the Pragmatic Bookshelf
The Pragmatic Bookshelf is an agile publishing company. We’re here because we
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 Table of Contents

Introduction

Acknowledgements

Part I. The Functional Paradigm

1. Functional Programming Is Big Again

We’ve Seen This Movie Before
New Arguments for Functional Programming

2. Functional Thinking for the Imperative Mind

It’s About Functions
It’s About Immutability
It’s a Way of Thinking

Part II. Scala: A Hybrid Language

3. Scala and Functional Style

Functional Purity
Higher-Order Functions
A Simple Example
A Practical Example
What About Debugging and Performance?
4. Working with Scala Collections
Immutable Collections
Mutable Collections
Lazy Collections

5. Creating Higher-Order Functions in Scala

Creating a Higher-Order Function
Multiple Parameter Lists
Function Values and the Loan Pattern

Part III. Clojure: The New Lisp

6. An Interview with Rich Hickey

Why Clojure?
The Infrastructure
Compared to What?

7. Getting Clojure: Why Lisp Still Matters

The REPL
Vectors and Keywords
Macros

8. Identity, Value, and State in Clojure

The Object-Oriented Model
The Clojure Model

9. Concurrent Programming in Clojure

A "Simple" Concurrent Programming Problem
Clojure’s Solution
 Part IV. Elixir: Making Programming Fun Again

10. Patterns and Transformations in Elixir

Pattern Matching
Pattern Matching Structured Data
Pattern Matching and Functions
Transformation Is Job #1

11. Getting Functional with Elixir

Anonymous Functions
Named Functions
A Practical Example
Refactor to Functional Style
What’s Different About This Code

12. Getting Parallel with Elixir

The Actor Model
Actors and Elixir
Messages
Monitoring Your Processes
A Final Example
Concurrency Is the Core of Elixir

Part V. Haskell: The Researcher’s Playground

13. Functional Thinking and Haskell

What It’s All About
 A Quick Exercise
Data Types Are Cheap
Pattern Matching
Recursion, Control, and Higher-Order Functions
Further Features

14. Haskell Hands-On

One Step at a Time
Generating Candidates
Dictionary Filtering
Breadth-First Searching
Using the Search
Performance and Optimization

Part VI. Swift: Functional Programming for Mobile

Apps

15. Swift: What You Need to Know

Hello, Swift!
Functional Swift

16. Functional Thinking in Swift

Avoid Nil, Unless You Mean It
Avoid Mutable State
Use Higher-Order Functions

Part VII. Going Deeper

17. Protocols in Swift vs. Ruby and Elixir
The Problem with Extensions
The Case for Protocols
Protocols and Extensions

18. Pattern Matching in Scala

Counting Coins
Matching All the Things
Using Extractions

19. Concurrency in Scala

Using Parallel Collections
Knowing When to Use Concurrency
Revisiting an Earlier Example

20. Clojure’s Exceptional Handling of Exceptions

A Simple Example
The Problem with Exceptions
A Solution: Conditions
Make Life Simple for Your Callers
Laziness and Errors

21. A Testing Framework for Elixir

Investing in Testing
One Experiment, Several Measurements
Optimizing Setup with TrueStory
Condense and Combine the Measurements
Controlling Setup Repetition with Nested Contexts
Controlling Setup Repetition with Story Pipes
22. Building Test Data with Elixir
The Typical Approaches
Beautiful Data for Beautiful Tests
Registering Templates and Prototypes with Forge
Instantiating Template Entries
Mutual Attributes and Having
Creating Structs
Creating Custom Entities
Customizing Persistence

23. Haskell’s Type System

TL;DR
What Are Types For?
A Concrete Example: Sorting
The Language of Haskell’s Type System
Type Inference and Type Checking
Some Examples
Comfort Break
Interfaces and Type Classes
Some Real-World Examples with Interfaces
Pros and Cons—the 80/20 Rule
Beyond Haskell: Dependent Types
Propositions Are Types, and Proofs Are Programs
Another Look at Sorting
Back to Earth

24. A Haskell Project: Testing Native Code

Our Native Code
Our Model
 A Brief Introduction to Haskell’s FFI
Wrapping Our Native Code in Haskell
Experimenting with GHCi
A Brief Introduction to QuickCheck
Writing an Equivalence Property
Defect Smashing

25. The Many Faces of Swift Functions

Anatomy of Swift Functions
Calling All Functions
Calling on Methods
Instance Methods Are Curried Functions
Init: A Special Note
Fancy Parameters
Access Controls
Fancy Return Types
Nested Functions

26. A Functional Approach to Lua

First-Class Functions in Lua
Recursion in Lua
Building with Functional Primitives
A Simple Game Animation

A1. Meet the Authors

Bibliography

Copyright © 2017, The Pragmatic Bookshelf.

Early Praise for Functional
Programming: A PragPub Anthology
If you’ve been wondering what all the functional hubbub is about, Functional
Programming: A PragPub Anthology will satisfy. You can wet your whistle with
several languages, get a feel for how to think functionally, and do so without
overcommitting to one language or school of thought.

→ Ben Vandgrift
Chief architect, Oryx Systems Inc.
Programming’s last sea change was in the 1990s when object orientation went
mainstream. It’s happening again, but this time it’s functional programming
that’s sweeping through our profession. Read this book to understand why and to
learn how to ride the wave.

→ Paul Butcher
Founder and CTO, writeandimprove.com
I really enjoyed the structure and flow of the book. The chapters stand on their
own as essays but when put together make a strong argument for functional
programming, regardless of the language. It’s also a treat to see all these
different familiar writers write about diverse languages.

→ Ben Marx
Lead engineer, Bleacher Report
You’re sure to find a way functional programming resonates with you with the
wealth of approaches and languages covered. The treatment of Scala collection
is superb: everything a beginner needs to know from the get-go!

→ Jeff Heon
Research software developer, CRIM
 Introduction
by Michael Swaine

This book shows how five different languages approach the paradigm of
functional programming. The chapters were written by experts in the different
languages and first appeared as articles in PragPub magazine. After publishing
nearly one hundred issues of the magazine, it became clear that we were in
possession of a wealth of information about functional programming, and we
decided that some of the best articles would make an interesting book.

Functional programming is one of the major paradigms of programming. In

functional programming, we approach computation as the evaluation of
mathematical functions, and as much as possible we avoid changing state and
mutable data.

Certain concepts and issues are sure to come up in any discussion of functional
programming. Recursion. Lazy evaluation. Referential transparency. Eliminating
side effects. Functions as first-class objects. Higher-level functions. Currying.
Immutable data. Type systems. Pattern matching. The authors touch on all these
concepts, looking at them from the perspective of different languages.

But functional programming is not an all-or-none thing. It is perfectly reasonable

to write imperative code that uses functional techniques and practices and data
structures. It is fine to mix and match styles, and some programming languages
are designed as hybrids, allowing you to use the style that best fits your needs of
the moment. Scala, for example, or Mathematica, or Swift. Our authors explore
these different approaches in this book, and you can decide which works best for
you.
We explore functional programming in five languages in this book, with articles
by experts in each language. If this encourages you to look for a definitive guide
to some of the languages, we can recommend Venkat Subramaniam’s Pragmatic
Scala [Sub15], Stuart Halloway and Aaron Bedra’s Programming Clojure (2nd
edition) [HB12], Dave Thomas’s Programming Elixir 1.3 [Tho16], Chris Eidhof,
Florian Kugler, and Wouter Swiersta’s Functional Swift
(https://www.objc.io/books/functional-swift/), and Miran Lipovaca’s Learn You
a Haskell for Great Good!: A Beginner’s Guide [Lip11]. What you’ll find here is
an exploration of an important programming paradigm in five languages, written
by a team of experts. That’s what we set out to create.

I hope you will agree that the result is an interesting book.

Copyright © 2017, The Pragmatic Bookshelf.

 Acknowledgements
Not for the first time, the editor is pleased to acknowledge his colleagues at the
Pragmatic Programmers, who are a joy to work with, thorough professionals,
and wonderful human beings. This book especially benefitted from the skills and
judgement of publisher Andy Hunt who understood the vision, vice president of
operations Janet Furlow who steered it to completion, executive editor Susannah
Davidson Pfalzer who helped shape it, and copy editor Nicole Abramowitz who
fixed its flaws.

Most of the chapters in this book first appeared as articles in PragPub magazine,
and I am grateful to the authors not only for the original articles but for the
editing—in some cases extensive—that they helped me with in the process of
turning magazine articles into book chapters. Read Appendix 1, ​Meet the
Authors​. I think you’ll be impressed.

I also need to thank Gilson Graphics for its design and production work, Nancy
Groth for original editing of the articles for magazine publication, and the
technical editors who gave generously of their time and expertise, including Paul
Butcher, Ian Dees, Jeff Heon, Ron Jeffries, and Kim Shrier.

I hope you enjoy this first in what I hope will be a line of PragPub anthologies.

Copyright © 2017, The Pragmatic Bookshelf.

Other documents randomly have
different content
showed Ingolf how to move his arms and legs. Thus; and thus!—
that was all! It did not seem very difficult to Ingolf. But suppose one
sank in spite of all? But Leif was unwearied in his persuasions—oh, it
was ever so easy. You simply scooped up the water with your arms
and kicked with your legs—that was all. At last Leif made him lie on
the piece of timber and taught him the strokes. So! and so! Kick out
strongly! Stretch your arms properly! Now, I bet we swim like a pair
of seals as soon as we get in the water. Now let us go!
They went down to the Fjord. On the way he made Leif promise that
first they should not go farther than where they could touch the
bottom. Otherwise he said he would not go. Leif promised, and
swore in addition. As soon as they got near the shore, Leif had his
clothes off and stood naked and careless and stretched himself in
the sun. Ingolf stood and looked at the water, and was a good while
unclasping his belt. Leif jumped about and hurried him on, but at
last would not wait any more. As a matter of course, he had either
forgotten his promise or did not choose to keep it. Instead of wading
out where he could reach the bottom he ran out on a rock, flung his
arms over his head, launched away, and was off.
Ingolf, still with most of his clothes on, ran out on the rock with his
heart in his mouth. Down there lay Leif; the water had swallowed
him. He lay and worked his arms and legs. Now he approached the
surface; now his head bobbed up. But only for a moment. His arms
and legs moved very much as when he rode. But either he could not
manage the swimming-strokes or they were no use. In any case, the
water would not support him. He went to the bottom again.
Never had Ingolf been so frightened as when he stood there and
saw Leif in the water—never so helplessly anxious and despairing.
He stood, and could neither move hand nor foot. He felt paralysing
terror like a dead weight in his whole body. Then he suddenly began
to shiver. At the same moment all power of cool reflection deserted
him and he forgot that he was no better a swimmer than Leif. He
must get out and help him. And he was on the point of plunging
from the rock with his clothes on when he saw Leif come crawling
up through the water.
Leif crawled up and got his head above the surface. He spat and
snorted and made grimaces. It did Ingolf good to see him. And he
did not go to the bottom again. Leif, the incredible, swam! Not with
arms and legs working on both sides as he had practised the
motions. No, he simply crawled through the water with a long stroke
and did not sink. It looked so ridiculous that Ingolf had to laugh
aloud. No, Leif of course could not be so easily drowned as others
die naturally. Now he felt the ground under his feet. He stood still,
coughed, and spat up water and shook himself so that the red locks
flew about his head. He laughed suddenly when he set eyes on
Ingolf. "What, not yet out of your clothes?" Quite calmly he waded
to shore. And when he stood opposite Ingolf, he said simply and
unaffectedly, although he shivered over his whole body: "I was
nearly drowned that time! Who could guess that it was so difficult?
If I hadn't just happened to think, while I was down there, how dogs
swim, I should be lying there still!"
When at last he had finished spitting and shaking the water out of
his ears, he took the same header again as a matter of course.
Such was Leif. He could not break his neck, he could not drown, and
bears sneaked off when they met him. Could he, then, be lost in a
wood and frozen to death? Or would he extricate himself again as he
alone could? Ingolf thought it not quite impossible, and that was his
only hope and comfort.
It would be just like Leif to crash his way through a wood in which
anyone else would be lost, and to be first home. If only he were
already there, in bed and asleep!
Ingolf was aroused from his reveries by his horse suddenly coming
to a dead stop. He looked round him, and was not long in
discovering that he had reached home. The horse had stopped
exactly opposite the door of the stable. Stiff in all his limbs from the
cold, he crawled down and opened the door. His only thought was
whether Leif's horse might already be inside. He went from horse to
horse, felt them, and noted their distinguishing marks. He knocked
against his own horse, which had followed after him into the warmth
with its saddle and bridle on. He freed it from the bridle, but forgot
the saddle, and went on. No, Leif's horse was not in the stable.
That was only what he had expected. Nevertheless, he felt suddenly
paralysed with disappointment. Leif, then, had not reached home.
Leif was still somewhere without. At that very moment he was
roaming about lost either on the heath or in the wood. Leif's horse
was not one of those which could find its way home by itself.
Ah, Leif! Leif! He hoped that it was not already all over with him.
Ingolf seemed to see him in front of him lying on his back in a
snowdrift with arms and legs stretched out. The snow was drifting
over him and already nearly covering him. By the side of him stood
his horse, with its head hanging down. Ah, Leif! Leif!
Ingolf collected himself. He did not feel the cold any more, nor did
he notice how hunger was gnawing him. He shut the stable and
went to the courtyard. There was something feverish and yet
resolute about all his proceedings. He entered the outhouse where
the ski were kept, and found his own and Leif's. He opened the
house-door a little and whistled softly to his dog. The dog was wild
with delight at seeing him again, jumped about him, and licked his
cold hands with his warm tongue, while Ingolf, his fingers stiff with
the frost, was buckling on his ski. He had no time to take notice of
it. As soon as he had buckled his snow-shoes firmly on, he sped
away from the house, the same way he had come. Now he again
paid attention to the direction of the wind and the light of the moon.
Leif must be found—there was no question about that. He could not
return home alive without him.

IV
Leif had gone riding on till he reached the wood, his mind full of
wrath and defiance. There was not one reasonable thought in his
brain; he had only the instinct to ride on. The motion cooled his
irritation. It did him good to be out in this wild, chaotic expanse.
There was a sense of freedom in casting away the yoke of reason, a
relief in knowing that one was committed to something which had
two sides and might mean life or death.
He would show Ingolf that though he himself did not know any path
through the wood he was not afraid of riding there all the same. He
would show him that if he wished to go the straight road home he
would do so in spite of woods and other hindrances! He would show
him that there was a difference between a man and an old woman
in breeches!
The snowstorm beat against him from the side, and he had to turn
his head so as not to have it directly in his ear, yet all the same he
had to ride with his eyes half shut. But he gave no heed to the
weather. A man who was intent on performing an exploit could not
worry about a trifle! Thus, filled with exulting presumption, he
approached the border of the wood and rode in among the
whistling, crackling trees. Here he had to slacken his pace, and, as
he did, it struck him all at once that there was a fair chance of his
losing himself in the wood and never getting out again. But nothing
could stop Leif when he had got up the speed for a piece of folly.
Besides, it was part of his reason for not giving up his project that
he was convinced that the worst turn he could do Ingolf was to ride
through the wood. If he won through it, Ingolf would be mortified; if
he got lost, Ingolf would be grieved. And Ingolf, sulky beast,
deserved no mercy. How thoroughly he would look down on him if
he happened to get home first! And if not, he knew well that Ingolf
would not have a quiet hour till he saw him again. And serve him
right.
Here in the outskirts of the wood Leif made such good progress that
he already felt sure of getting home first. At the same time, he
found room in his heart and mind for a certain anxiety regarding
Ingolf. He hoped he would not be lost upon the heath where he had
nothing to guide him.
Now that his fantastic assurance for himself had left room for anxiety
for Ingolf, his wrath suddenly vanished. Should he not ride after
Ingolf, try to overtake him, and convince him how much better it
was to ride through the wood? But then Ingolf would only believe
that he had turned round because he did not dare to ride through
the wood alone, which was just what he was going to show him he
could do.
His arms and legs came again into action. But the deeper Leif
penetrated into the wood, the harder it became to make progress.
The going was not so good here. The horse went on at an irregular
pace. Leif had continually to turn because of low branches and fallen
trunks. He had to go slowly and gradually, step by step.
Besides, it was not very comfortable here in the dense parts of the
wood. Leif did not venture to startle his horse by shouting, though
he was not really afraid. But all the sounds which he could not
account for made him silent and alert. On all sides there was an
uninterrupted whistling, creaking, and groaning. Snow fell from the
branches with a thump. Hasty flappings of wings, which sent a chill
through him, penetrated through all other sounds, producing a
foreboding sense of vacuity and gloom. Besides, it was darker here
than was pleasant. He could hardly discern the nearest tree-trunks.
He wished he were out on the heath again and in Ingolf's company.
What had he wanted to go to the wood for?
Leif was not long in losing himself so completely that he thought it
just as well to give up altogether aiming at any particular direction,
and go on at haphazard. He felt it really a relief to be free from the
trouble. The chief thing now was to sit on his horse and keep warm,
which was beginning to be a difficulty.
But now Leif was in high spirits and proof against blows. He had
prepared his mind for troubles and schooled himself to confront
Fate. He had cast all responsibility from him far into space! Let any
one who chose undertake it! He was riding here—that was all. Could
his horse get on? Let happen what would!
He did not doubt for a moment that the matter would finally turn out
well for him. He would get clear. How, he did not guess, neither did
he trouble himself about it. He had reasonably or unreasonably
come to the conclusion that he might just as well stop interfering.
Yes, he would not venture to interfere. Suppose he turned off to the
left now, and by doing so lost the right direction? No, he would not
touch the bridle, but simply trust to luck. If he must pay the price for
his rashness, he might just as well do it with the same coin. And if
he got home in that way, the account would be settled.
Thus he rode for a long time, but not so long as he thought. He was
checked in his progress, and therefore the time seemed more than
doubled. He thought he got on faster than he actually did. At last he
sat half asleep upon his horse, which he kept going by half-
mechanical movements of his arms and legs. The horse went slower
and slower. It had lost heart, and would rather have stood still, hung
its head, turned its back to the storm, and let time and destiny roll
over it. Leif did not agree with the horse in the matter. He himself
sat there and let come what would. But something must be kept
going, or there would be a complete full-stop. So the horse must
continue.
But that was so contrary to the horse's will that Leif at last had to
shake off his drowsiness in order to keep the animal going. And, in
spite of all, it only went step by step.
Leif was working again with his whole body. Nevertheless, he felt
how the cold was tightening its clutch on his limbs and already
threatening his stomach and chest. Leif was no fool. He clearly
perceived that his life was in danger. In full consciousness he took
up the struggle against weariness, which by its temptation to
drowsiness sought to surprise him with sleep, that would be fatal in
the frost.
Leif rallied himself with a firm resolve. That was not at all to his
mind. He did not in the least intend to give up. Twelve years could
not satisfy a hunger for life like his. He had much to do in the world.
He was, for one thing, a good way yet from becoming a Viking and
marrying Helga. Would the forest never come to an end?
At last it did. Leif went on riding and riding. And what did he see?
Tracks of a horse which had been going through the snow. So he
had then been riding in a circle. And where was he? That the wood
only knew.
But now he would follow the tracks in the direction he had come
from to see if he could break the circle and, if possible, find his way
out of the wood.
Now it seemed to him the chief thing to find his way out, no matter
where. That was for the present object enough. He resolutely
avoided looking further in his thoughts. Unconsciously he armed
himself against the tendency of thought to weaken the mind. He
would not have his strength paralysed by too much reasoning. His
business was simply to ride on and fight against the cold.
He had lost the track again. The horse became more and more
unwilling to proceed. It only went on because it must.
Suddenly and unexpectedly he noticed that he was out of the wood.
He saw no more tree-trunks. Here there were only whirling clouds of
snow around him. His only resource was to go on. He kept riding to
see whether he would not come across trees farther on. No, there
were no more trees. And what was he to do now?
On which side of the wood was he? He rallied his reasoning power
and reflected. Yes, he must be on the same side by which he had
entered. The wind was due north—the direction he came from—
there then was the north. So he had been very sagacious as far as
looking went. He should only have been sharp enough to see when
the wood ended, then he would have had the edge of the wood to
guide himself by. Should he turn round and try to find the wood
again? No, no, he might get among the trees. And he had lost all
desire to ride to the wood. The horse had availed itself of Leif's
reflections to come to a stop. Without Leif having noticed it, it had
turned its back to the storm, and simply stood still with its head
drooping.
Leif sought to rouse it up and set it in motion again. Here there was
no use in remaining at a standstill. But the horse had formed its own
opinion of the whole expedition. It stood immovable, and intended
to remain so. Leif expended much energy on its back, tugged at the
reins, struck it with his whip-handle, since lashing seemed of no
avail, but it was useless. The horse had had enough and more than
enough. It stood, and intended to remain standing for an indefinite
time. Leif jumped down and looked with astonishment in its eyes.
What was the matter with the beast? Had it suddenly got fancies in
its head? He pulled at the bridle, tried to tug the horse to one side,
and made his whip whistle over it. The horse sighed a little at such a
cruel and senseless proceeding. But it had once for all made up its
mind to stay where it was. At that moment there was nothing that
would make it budge an inch from the spot.
Leif looked helplessly around him. He could not understand the
horse's sudden predilection for precisely that spot of ground. Was
there perhaps something to guide them? Completely exhausted it
could not be, as there was still so much refractoriness in it.
So he tried to treat it kindly. He talked gently to it, patted it, and
scratched it behind the ears. He overwhelmed it with flattery, and
sang to it in a high-pitched voice. Then he clambered with some
trouble on its back again, and hoped that it had now changed its
mind. But it had not done so by any means. Leif began to get angry,
but he patted its neck and kept a friendly tone. Since this still proved
useless he uttered a wild howl with all his might, and threw his
arms, legs, and whole body into motion. At last he was nearly crying
with vexation. Then he tried it again with friendliness and kind
words, but it was all of no avail.
So he gave it up. The horse evidently would not go farther. And
since he could neither compel nor persuade it, there was nothing to
be done with the creature.
He slipped from its back and tried to review the situation. On nearer
inspection it seemed to be just as threatening and impenetrable as
the snow-clouds round him. As he stood there the wind lashed his
face and pierced icily cold through his clothes. He perceived clearly
the danger of the situation. If the cold and his weariness made him
yield a little, it was all over with him.
It was no use to let the horse stand and go on with his own
strength. The energies he had still in reserve were in no reasonable
proportion to the storm and the length of the way. It was only a little
strength and endurance which he had remaining. But it was that
little which was to rescue him. He kept his hands tightly clenched
together as if it were a matter of extracting some device by purely
physical pressure from his oozing energies. He intensified his
thoughts till he seemed to hear them beating in his skull. But it was
as though all possibilities had conspired against him and forsaken
him.
He stood and set his back against the wind, and sought to combat a
creeping foreboding that there was no way of escape. He knew that
once he gave up it was all over with him. So long as he could keep
erect and resolute there was still hope.
His thoughts forsook the beaten paths and travelled in the labyrinths
of imagination, seeking a last possibility. A picture came up in his
memory. He remembered a Yuletide sacrificial feast at home ... the
penetrating odour of blood and entrails ... the warm, gaping hollow
of an ox's body emptied of its viscera. Before he had yet time to
connect thought with action, his knife was out. He took the bridle off
the horse, with feverish fingers sought a certain spot in its neck,
waited a moment while he overcame his repugnance, and then
made a thrust. With a groan the horse collapsed on its knees. Leif
rolled it over on one side, and so it remained, lying with stiff,
struggling legs, now and then shaken by a faint shudder. Leif made a
cut in its neck, so that he could, when possible, extract the windpipe
and gullet. A warm stream of blood spouted straight into his eyes
and blinded him till he had again rubbed them clean. And now the
intoxication of blood overcame him. He had the scent of it in his
nostrils and the taste of it on his tongue. With a single long cut from
the fore to the hinder-part he slit open its stomach. The warm,
smoking entrails bulged out of the streaming gash. Leif snatched
them out with his hands, but had to stop, because the heat nearly
scalded him—shook his hands like a cat its paws—and set to work
again. In a very short time he had cleared the animal's stomach of
all the entrails, with a round cut of his knife he loosened the
diaphragm, extracted the lungs with the grey windpipe adhering to
them from the breast, and threw them away. Then at last, with
trembling fingers, he sheathed his knife, heaved a long sigh, and
crawled head-first into the horse's empty stomach. He coiled himself
together like an animal, audibly growling with the sense of comfort
and the prospect of secure rest. But however he turned and twisted
himself, he could not find room for his legs. So he crawled rather
crossly out again, stripped off his cloak, wound it several times
round his feet and legs above his knees, to preserve them from
being frostbitten, and crept in again. He enjoyed the delightful
warmth inside. Now it would do him real good to have his rest out
and sleep. With a light and untroubled heart he lay down
comfortably. Sleep—sleep. When he awoke again, the snowstorm
would doubtless be over. He chuckled inwardly; he would simply stay
here till it was quite finished! If it still lasted long he could easily live
on frozen horse-flesh. He had still a conviction that he would not die
that day. Nonsense! Here he lay, and liked it. The future seemed
bright and cheerful to his inner eye. He wondered whether Ingolf
would be home by now? In his fulness of satisfaction and quiet he
allowed himself to hope so. A little after he was sleeping a sound,
untroubled sleep.

V
Ingolf bore towards the west. He had the wind on his right side, a
little against him. He had to climb rising ground, although not very
steep. He only made slow progress. But he felt his strength and how
his body was, as it were, braced together in one strain. And it was
as though this consciousness of his own strength continually
produced new strength again. He was so absolutely determined to
hold out till he found Leif or fell dead that there was not the slightest
breach in his will, where doubt and fatigue might insinuate their
poisonous disintegrating vapours.
For the present, his object was only to go round the wood to the
other side and see whether he could not find Leif's tracks and the
place where he had entered the wood. If he could find Leif's, or
rather the horse's, tracks, his dog would be a considerable help in
following them. And if he could not find them, it was not impossible
that the dog might. Such was Ingolf's plan.
Now and then he looked at the dog faithfully plodding after him.
When it ran along unnoticed, it dropped its tail discontentedly. It did
not see any object in such an expedition in this weather, and could
not possibly approve of it at first. But as soon as Ingolf spoke kindly
to it, or it only noticed that it was observed, it cocked its tail and
sprang forward at his side, gladly barking, and talked to him in dog-
language.
They went steadily forward, although their progress was slow. To his
joy, Ingolf noticed that the wind was abating. The snow-clouds were
gradually dividing, and the moon's pale disc shone against a
background of blue. Around him spread a white expanse, abruptly
broken by the dark line of the edge of the wood a little to the right.
There was no longer an upward incline; he sped along easily and
softly on his ski, and looked about him. The snow-clouds as they
departed opened an ever-widening horizon to his view. He must
clearly ascertain where he was. Now he knew the place and could do
that correctly for himself. Yes, he was up on the heath, and had only
to turn to the right and follow the line of the wood. His snow-shoes
glided easily upon the smooth, even surface of the snow. With each
step he increased his speed. For now a mental tension took hold of
him, and filled him with restlessness. He called to his dog, roused it
up, and urged it on with short, explanatory shouts. He made it
understand that he was seeking something, and counted on its help.
Suddenly the dog was awake in every nerve. Now he could
understand his master and feel with him. Eagerly he ran on ahead,
nosing at the snow. Hither and thither he ran, in larger and smaller
curves. Now and then Ingolf seemed to perceive in it an impulse to
stand still. But it never came completely to a stop, only making a
half pause. The dog was so engrossed in its mission of finding
something, though it knew not what, that it completely forgot its
tail, and let it hang obliquely down behind, completing the
impression of self-forgetting absorption.
It was as though Ingolf's mental tension had transferred itself to the
animal, which continually increased its speed. Ingolf had difficulty in
keeping up, although he sped as though for his life, so that the
sweat poured in streams down over his face and dropped from his
eyebrows and chin.
Thus they sped on for a long time. Ingolf knew well that he must
husband his strength. But it seemed as though the part of his
excitement which had communicated itself to the dog had returned
to him with double strength. He completely forgot to economize his
forces. He put them all forth, well knowing that by doing so he
imperilled the success of his quest. He simply could not do
otherwise. The one thing was to hold out and follow the dog. He
dared not keep it back. "On!" he said to himself. "As long as you can
keep your head up."
Suddenly the dog stopped and began running round and round.
Ingolf was a good way behind him. He hurried on as quickly as
possible, and gave close attention to the animal, which now stood
and sniffed for a time. Then it ran a little way in the direction of the
wood. Oho! Here it was, then! But what now? The dog stood still,
sniffed, and ran some way back. Then it paused again. What was
the matter?
And see! Now it lifted its head, stood and sniffed now towards the
wood, now in the opposite direction, with a slight, hasty jerk of its
body. Its tail was lifted too, and stood straight out.
Now Ingolf felt certain. This was where he should enter the wood.
Now there remained nothing necessary but to take off his ski and to
walk.
But before he had quite got up to the dog, the latter had already
started again—away from the wood. Ingolf shouted to it. It must be
mistaken. It stood still as it was ordered, but did not come back. It
remained standing, waiting for further directions. Ingolf called it
again, but it remained standing as before. And now Ingolf heard it
utter a low whine. What did it want? Ingolf shouted encouragingly to
it and immediately it started off again. Ingolf followed, without yet
leaving the edge of the wood. He thought the dog was still on the
track, and only following it in the wrong direction. It would soon
perceive its mistake and turn round.
But it was far from turning round. On the contrary, it came to a stop
and remained standing by a slight elevation in the snow. There it
paused and ran about, nosing here and there eagerly. It was easy to
see that it had found something of great importance.
Ingolf came to a stop. He had to rally all his will power in order not
to collapse.
He could not stir from the spot. Was Leif lying there? Had a tragedy
happened after all? The gods he had braved had at last taken
vengeance on Leif for his insolence and mockery. Ingolf felt himself
struck in a vital nerve. For how could he live after that?
As he stood there it occurred to him suddenly that here his race
came to an end. Leif was dear. Only he and Helga were left. He with
a stain upon his honour—in a fit of temper he had let Leif ride
unhindered away from him to meet obvious death—a stain he could
only wash away in one way—by giving himself a sacrifice to Odin.
And Helga ... yes, Helga would not survive that. So here the race
would cease. All his dreams, all his purposes blown away like chaff
before the wind.
Suddenly Ingolf heard the dog close by him. It stood in front of him,
with its snout lifted and its ears laid back, whining up at him. At first
he looked down without seeing it and without giving heed to its
supplicating look; then suddenly he woke to attention. The dog
certainly did not look sorrowful. It looked rather as if it had
something special, and to a certain degree joyful, to announce. And
its whining also seemed to signify the same.
In Ingolf's mind there dawned a spark of hope. He set his ski in
motion and followed the dog.
But the nearer he came to the white mound, by which his dog
already stood, looking back beseechingly and whining softly—the
slower he moved. Suddenly he stood still as though struck. What
was it? What sort of a sound was that? He stood still awhile and
collected himself to listen. But his own blood's throbbing made it
hard for him to interpret the sound he heard. Suddenly the sound
grew louder, till here was no mistaking it. It was the heavy snoring
of one dead tired.
Here was Leif, then, calmly asleep. He was not too dead to lie there
snoring, so that it could be heard a long way off.
In an instant Ingolf was there; he threw off his ski and began to
excavate the snow with his bare hands. Leif in the horse's stomach
was so covered with snow that no one could guess what this mound
in the landscape really contained.
Ingolf took hold of a corner of the cloak and pulled. Leif did not
follow it, as he had expected. The cloak came up empty, and only
exposed Leif's legs to view. Leif was not interested in what was
going on—he continued to lie there and snore. So Ingolf began to
pull Leif's leg with all his might, and at last dragged him out. A hasty
look in the hole showed him the ripped-up stomach of a horse. Leif
opened a pair of sleep-drunken and astonished eyes, rose with a
bound, looked closely at Ingolf and at the dog, gave a glance into
the hole he had been hauled out from, shook off his stiffness,
yawned, and began to rub his eyes, as though he wished to look
more closely into the matter before he believed it.
Ingolf stood and stared at him without uttering a word. Leif looked
dirty and bloody, but it was certainly not his own blood. He did not
seem to have lost anything, and was at any rate alive. And how like
Leif that was. He had at last rubbed his eyes well and was awake.
For a moment he sat with his eyes wide open and looked at Ingolf.
"Well, you have been home," he blurted out in a voice that was
hoarse and still a little sleepy. "Brought anything to eat?"
Then Ingolf sat down and laughed—laughed so that he had to hold
his stomach with both hands—laughed so that at last he had to fall
backwards, and rolled on one side. Leif looked at him, but his mental
faculties were still a little benumbed by sleep. Then he, too, began
to chuckle inwardly. When, a little while after, they had put on their
ski, and were on the point of starting homeward, Leif stopped
suddenly, and reflected. Then he looked Ingolf in the eyes and
reached out his hand. He did not utter a word, but pressed his hand
and looked straight in his eyes again. There was a slight quiver
about his large mouth.
Then quickly they loosed each other's hands. And they started off
home at full speed. They were as though born again, and did not
feel weariness, cold, or hunger. By their side raced Ingolf's dog, his
warm, bright red tongue hanging far out and his tail cheerfully erect.
So they sped along the way by the wood. Down the slopes above
the house they went at a pelting pace. When at last they were at
home in the courtyard, and had stowed away their ski in the
outhouse, the dawn was beginning to break. No one was up yet.
Noiselessly they crept to their beds. They did not feel bold enough to
meet any one this morning. The best thing was to take refuge in
sleep from all explanations.
 VI
Helga, though she had only lived for twelve winters, knew already a
good deal of life. She knew what it was to be anxious for one whom
she loved. Long before she was conscious of her love for Leif, she
suffered all a lover's anxiety. Leif took her thoughts with him
wherever he went and travelled. And she could never feel secure
about him. She could, on the other hand, be sure that if she had not
seen him for the space of a day, not to speak of the occasions when
he was absent many days, that during that interval he had been
once, or probably many times, near the border of the next world,
and that it was at any rate only due to the incredible luck which
always followed him that he came home with whole limbs.
She knew, in fact, the long days and still longer nights of waiting
and anxiety. She knew what it was to lie awake most of the night
and see terrible sights. She turned restlessly on her bed, and neither
dared to close her eyes nor to stare into the darkness, because
everywhere she encountered the figure of him she loved, either
dead or dying. She had learnt to prize two things which a woman,
who must generally miss and be anxious for him she loves, cannot
live without—dreaming and work. She knew how small occupations
shorten the day, and the relief won by showing love to animals,
being kind to them, and lavishing kind words upon them, and she
experienced the joy it gives to be loved by dumb creatures. It was
known to her, also, how the way is made easy to the land of dreams,
where the hours fly quickly, by busying one's hands with needle and
thread. When she sat making something ornamental for herself or
small gifts for him, there were moments when she seemed to
triumph over distance, and felt her friend so near that she suddenly
let her hands sink, looked up, and was quite surprised that he was
not standing behind her. Was it because she did not look up quickly
enough? Just before, he had been standing there! Helga, with her
twelve short winters, knew also happiness. There was the happiness
of seeing Leif come home radiant, and hearing his dear, glad voice
tell of great adventures. Leif always came across great adventures,
so that his tongue nearly ran away with him. There was the joy of
noticing that his eye always sought her first, and really only her. It
was a joy that he never found rest when near her, except at her
side, and that he could only be quiet and lose himself in dreams
when she held his hand. It was a joy finally to see him forget
everything, even herself, when he had some purpose in his head, or
was bent upon going to some other place. Even the pain at seeing
herself thus forgotten was mingled with the deepest feelings of joy.
For that was just Leif's way. He came so near her by leaving her. She
loved him exactly as he was, regardless of limits and without
consideration. Because he was one of those whom no bond holds, it
was such a happy thing to know that he was hers, when he only
remembered it—hers and no one else's.
And, besides, she knew that she could not cease to love him. She
was so completely convinced that though in knightly bravery and
unbounded courage he might, perhaps, have an equal, he could not
have a superior. It was impossible for her to cease loving him.
Yes, Helga knew happiness. She knew what it was to love, and to
feel herself beloved. She knew by experience how absence deepens
and intensifies affection. She felt how her latent longing slowly grew,
and was prepared to burst all bonds. She possessed in full measure
woman's pure and unbounded devotion. Matured early as she was,
Helga often reflected on the relation between Leif and her brother,
Ingolf, which caused her distress. She was fond of her brother.
Ingolf, though fundamentally different from Leif, was such that if she
once had to leave him in order to follow Leif, she would not make
Leif so complete and happy as she ungrudgingly wished him to be.
Therefore the great difference in their characters caused her
perpetual anxiety—an anxiety which flamed up anew whenever Leif
and Ingolf became angry with each other, or even a little at variance.
In her heart she accused them alternately—Ingolf, when his
phlegmatic character irritated Leif; and Leif, when, by his hastiness
and teasing, he provoked Ingolf. Neither Leif nor Ingolf had any
suspicion of Helga's deep distress each time a trivial
misunderstanding divided them for a short time. For Helga
concealed her anxiety, and fought her battle in silence.
She was always on the watch for the fluctuations in their
temperaments. She could always perceive when they had been at
variance, even when they had been reconciled and had forgotten
what had occurred, before they met her. When anything concerned
them, she was as sensitive as a feather in the wind. And she did not
cease till she had examined the cause of their disagreement to the
minutest detail, and cleared away the remnants of ill-humour which
might still remain in one or both of their minds. They felt sometimes
that it was a little tiresome, being called to account in this way. But
they reconciled themselves to it, because both were so fond of her,
and because she was wise, quiet, and impartial. They did not guess
at all that she fought for her future happiness with a heart torn by
anxiety, that her calm had been won by a severe struggle, that her
seeming cool, wise impartiality was a screen behind which she
concealed herself.
Helga was the only one who, to a certain extent, discovered the real
circumstances connected with their journey over the heath. She was
also the only one who discovered that they had separated, and
separated in anger. Finally, she was the only one who obtained a
truthful account of the slaughter of the horse.
Originally it was by no means their intention that she should find out
anything of the matter. When Ingolf and Leif had slept
uninterruptedly for twenty-four hours after their return from Gaulum,
they woke the second night, towards morning, hungry and
depressed, and began to examine the situation. They hastily agreed
only to say that they had ridden over the heath, and up there had
been obliged to kill their only horse, and for the rest to maintain an
obstinate silence. If Orn and Rodmar were in the mood to punish
them, they must submit; and, for the rest, ride out the storm as well
as they could.
They had soon discovered that Orn and Rodmar had more important
things to think about. It was enough for them that the boys had
returned home safe and sound. They told them, seriously, that it was
not the custom of a man of honour to break a promise once given,
and that, since they had done that, they could not yet be accounted
men. That hurt their feelings rather, but had to be borne. Ingolf and
Leif discovered once more that one escapes most cheaply when one
has been most anxious. So lightly did their fathers deal with them.
With Helga it was another matter. She held on, and held on. For
many days they fought manfully; they did not want to make her
their confidante in the matter. But she was not to be shaken off. And
at last there came the moment when their tongues were altogether
loosed, and she got a full account, down to the minutest details.
It happened in the following way. Their plan of defence had been to
take care that neither should be alone with her. For many days it had
been impossible for her to find them in a remote spot; not once had
she succeeded in getting one of them alone. When she saw that it
was not a fair fight, she had recourse to stratagem. She kept silence
for a few days, and they immediately became less vigilant. Then she
brought out some wild apples which she had kept since the
preceding summer. She made them believe that she had seen her
chance to snatch them. The apples smelt delicious. Leif and Ingolf
were immediately willing to share the supposed stolen goods with
her. So she succeeded in luring them into her ambush—an outhouse
where they could eat them quietly. She let them bolt the door
carefully, so that they should not run the risk of being surprised. She
took her seat on the edge of a sledge, and let the boys sit, one on
each side of her. And then she spoke in a way to cut off all evasions,
and made it impossible for them to be silent any longer. Too late
they discovered that they had been caught in a trap.
Embarrassed and unhappy, they began their confession. With red
faces and downcast eyes, they related brokenly and alternately what
had happened between them on the heath in the evening and the
night. Each of them accused himself and excused the other. But
Helga, who listened with more than her ears only, became quite
clear in her mind regarding what had happened.
Quite still she sat with bowed head, and let them tell their narrative.
When they had finished and were silent, she still remained still,
without moving or speaking a word. At last her silence seemed so
strange to Leif that he lifted his head and looked at her in alarm.
And what he saw increased his fear. She sat there by his side with
her face white and, as it were, sunk in. Her eyes stared straight
before her, her mouth was firmly closed, and tears trickled from her
despairing eyes and ran down over her pale face. Leif felt an icy chill
run through his whole body which made him shudder. This drew
Ingolf's attention, and he also looked up. He had never seen his
sister look like that; immediately he seized one of her hands. It was
ice-cold, and remained passive in his.
Tears came to Leif's eyes, and he sat there inwardly helpless. It was
not possible for him to bring out a word. He found nothing to say,
and simply dared not open his mouth, for he was on the point of
weeping.
Ingolf was the first to speak. He pressed his sister's limp hand,
shook her arm cheerfully, and said: "You must not be so sad about
that, Helga. We have forgotten it now. And each of us has certainly
vowed in his heart that it shall never happen again."
Helga opened her mouth to answer him, but her tongue would not
obey her. She had to struggle hard to control her emotion. When she
had waited a little, she at last began to speak. "That is just it," she
said, with a broken voice. "It always gets worse and worse with you
—always more dangerous. When you are grown, you will not so
easily get over it, nor so easily be reconciled afterwards. Perhaps
you will even fight each other. Perhaps some day one of you will kill
the other. If things go on like this, there will at last be hatred
between you. And what shall I do?"
Ingolf and Leif sat and felt very uncomfortable. Both saw for once
the relation between them with her eyes. She was right. Things
were growing continually worse. It was no use to shut their eyes to
the danger. The next time they fell out, it might be under such
circumstances as would not admit of their being reconciled again.
They had not been far from that this last time.
Ingolf was the first who found firm ground in his thoughts. A secret
purpose was suddenly quickened in him. Hurriedly he rose and
reached out his hand to Leif. "Leif, will you be my sworn brother?"
he asked quietly, and there was in his voice and bearing that adult
composure which made him at times seem older than he was.
Leif sprang up and took his hand. He could not bring out a word, but
gripped hard. Helga remained sitting and looked from one to the
other. Then she rose slowly, laid her hands over theirs, and gave
each of them a kiss. "Now you are both my brothers," she said, and
looked at the same time at Leif. Her look made Leif understand that
he was more than a brother. He turned red, and smiled in an
embarrassed way. He had the habit of blushing easily. His
embarrassed smile was very charming.
They had forgotten the apples. Now they were produced, and helped
them over the slight embarrassment which followed on their extreme
seriousness. Gradually Leif and Helga talked fluently. Ingolf, on the
other hand, did not say much. He sat and took a secret oath that
henceforth he would be a man, and no overhastiness of temper
should master him. Nothing should by any means divide him from
Leif or Helga. Now he and Leif were actually brothers, and Leif and
Helga would hold by each other, he knew. Seldom had he felt so
happy as at this moment. Quite unconsciously he sat and enjoyed
his sense of strength and quiet. He continued so to sit till Helga
roused him with a question. Thus they talked easily and enjoyed
being together. When they separated, they had agreed that the
solemn ceremony of initiation into blood-brotherhood should take
place in the spring at the great festival which was to be held at the
chief temple at Gaulum.
 VII
Orn and Rodmar were able to make the winter pass. They sat most
days and every evening on the high-seat, drank beer, and enjoyed
each other's society.
From the north came rumours of disturbance. There was still peace
and no danger in Dalsfjord and its neighbourhood. But it was best to
be prepared for everything.
Now that Halvdan the Black was dead, and his son, Harald, made
King, though but ten years old, there were several kings and chiefs
who suddenly conceived a desire for the kingdom which Halvdan the
Black had established. It was rumoured that Harald and his uncle,
Guttorm, who was to be regent during the two years remaining of
Harald's minority, had already gone out to meet the disturbers of
peace.
When Orn and Rodmar heard of it, they remembered the exploits of
their youth. The latter had not lost anything by being related
through many years. Listeners obtained the impression that Orn and
Rodmar had been present at the most important events of the
world, and decided their issue. And it was not only men whom they
had encountered. They had met evil and hidden powers in manifold
forms. And here they sat after all.
Orn and Rodmar were reasonable men, who spoke in moderation.
When one had spoken, he gladly let the other have his turn. And
while the one who was silent played the part of an attentive hearer,
his look became absent, he thought of fresh exploits, brought them
forth, and arranged them in his mind. Then when the other at last
was silent he was fully prepared. But first he nodded courteously
and said, "Yes! Yes!" very thoughtfully, and still kept silence for a
moment to show that he had been following. Then all at once he
became an active narrator. "But now here!"
The servants in the hall were amused, but not in any unbecoming
way. They winked at each other when the old men did not see it.
They did not grudge the old men their reminiscences, and partly
believed them. But they were amused.
And Orn and Rodmar showed a startling faculty at their age in
discovering how to outdo each other's tales.
When they had bragged their best, they went to the temple and
offered their fattest animals to the gods, feasted in their honour, and
gave them gifts. They did not feel quite sure whether the gods
allowed so much pride. And one should not offend the gods, but
keep on good terms with them.
Thus the days passed for Orn and Rodmar. They grew old, sitting in
the high-seat and drinking beer. They drank much beer.

VIII
One morning, shortly after Ingolf had offered Leif blood-
brotherhood, they went to their fathers to tell them, and ask their
permission for the ceremony to take place at the feast at Gaulum the
first day of summer.
Leif found his father in bed. When he had spoken, Rodmar praised
his luck in strong language, added that he had always had better
fortune than he deserved, further remarked that on the rare
occasions that he caused his father joy it was always without any
merit of his own, and bade him go his way and leave him, Rodmar,
to his beer.
Orn was sitting in the high-seat, slaking his morning thirst, when
Ingolf came before him and asked permission to speak. Orn granted
it with a nod of his white-haired head. The slightly absent look did
not disappear from his face; he listened without moving to what his
son had to say. When Ingolf had spoken, Orn remained sitting silent.
Ingolf was not sure whether he had heard what he had said or not.
It was easy to see that he sat in deep reflection. Ingolf remained
standing for a time, waiting for an answer. When he saw that it was
in vain, and that his father had probably forgotten that he stood
there, he silently departed.
Orn did not touch his drinking-horn again that day. He busied
himself with his thoughts, and was taciturn. Long before his usual
time he sought his couch. Early next morning he summoned Ingolf
curtly and bade him follow him. He led him to an outhouse where
the tools of the house were kept, and bolted the door carefully. Then
he took his seat on a chopping-block in the middle of the floor and
sat silent. Ingolf stood before him, awaiting what he had to say, and
carefully restraining his impatience.
"Sit down," said Orn at last thoughtfully.
Ingolf sat down on some lumber which had been piled up against
the main wall. So they remained sitting a considerable time. Orn was
long in commencing. "You have told me," he began at last, speaking
very slowly and, with constant pauses, "that you intend to enter into
blood-brotherhood with your cousin, Leif. I must presume that you
are acquainted with duties of blood-brotherhood, and have carefully
considered the matter, and also that you have not let yourself be
surprised into talking rash vows, or have followed your feelings alone
without consulting your understanding. I will not disguise from you
that I could have wished a better brother for you in this. And I leave
it to your discretion whether the circle of your brotherhood should
not be extended so as also to include Atle Jarl's sons. On many
grounds I have been led to understand that these young men,
especially Haasten, would not be unwilling to exchange the bond of
friendship for that of brotherhood. It needs but a word on your part,
perhaps only a hint. My opinion is that you would stand stronger
alone than with Leif as your sworn brother. You ought to be
intelligent enough yourself to perceive that. But the three would
balance Leif, and more than that. You would stand stronger
afterwards, especially if another tie subsequently should unite us to
Atle's sons, which I do not regard as impossible. For the rest, Leif is
certainly our kinsman. We should therefore look after him, and
perhaps he is best bound in that way. I do not wish to say more
about the matter."
Orn was silent for a long time. Presently he resumed. "I feel I am
growing old. The days depart and do not return to me. They seem,
as it were, to go a very little way, and there is nothing to hold fast to
in them; they slip through my hands."
He coughed, reflected, and began again. "Therefore I have
considered that perhaps it would be best if I were to make over to
you our property to manage. It will be good for you to be early
accustomed to command people and to bear responsibility. And you
are certainly a child no longer. I will therefore gladly see, before I
die, how you prosper when you manage by yourself. For the rest, I
leave matters without anxiety to you, and I shall be at hand, and
can be useful. I will also advise Rodmar to do the same for Leif. Your
task will certainly be increased by that, for you will have to look after
your kinsman, at any rate at first. But since you wish to enter into
brotherhood with him, you must bear the consequences. There is no
more to be said about it at present. We must have time to prepare
the matter, and can return to it later. There was also another thing I
wished to speak to you about today."
Orn was silent and reflected. Then he commenced again hesitatingly,
not without a certain embarrassment. "I often heard in her time your
mother speaking with you. It is now long since, and you were little
at the time. Probably you have forgotten some of what she said. But
I have noticed that you have remembered part of it—perhaps you
remember every word. I have never spoken to you of your mother.
You have never given occasion for it, and one should not talk too
much. When one talks too much, words easily become mere wind.
Therefore I have never hitherto spoken with you about something,
of which, however, I wish to speak with you—not because I believe
it necessary—perhaps you are already as clear on the matter as
myself—but because I want you to remember that I have spoken to
you. The fact that I cannot well postpone it has also determined me
to speak now.
"You know that Odin and Thor are especially my gods. They have
been the gods of our family as far back as tradition goes, and I want
you, like your forefathers, to hold them especially in honour. If you
do that, it will go well with you. For wisdom and strength are the
two things a man must have. If he has them, he has honour too, in
Valhalla as well as here upon earth. Goods and gold, power over
men, and great possessions are good things, which you should strive
to acquire, and hold fast when you have them. But all those things
can, in case of need, be dispensed with. Honour is the one
indispensable thing, because, after all, it is the only thing that uplifts
a man, and the only thing that survives him on earth, when he is
dead and done with. And because honour can be lost during a man's
lifetime, a dead man with honour preserved is happier than the man
who is still alive, and whose honour is exposed to peril. It is not
necessary to impress upon you anything else than that; when your
honour is concerned, you must be prepared to stake your life. The
memory of a man outlives him. And honour casts a glory over a
man's memory, just as dishonour casts a shadow. No man in our
family has a shadow on his memory. This is the most important thing
which I wish to say to you. But if you have the patience to hear me,
I have something more to say. And that is this. You shall respect
your land's law and justice, for as long as you have not renounced
its law, you are bound by it, and dishonour yourself by breaking it.
You shall not stir up unnecessary quarrels, but avoid disunion and
strife, as long as your honour is not injured. Peace in the land
produces fruitful fields. But if you have a lawful vengeance to inflict,
do so with a heavy hand, as behoves one born to such a place as
yours. But be always ready for reconciliation when it is offered
sincerely. An honourable reconciliation is preferable to a victory
which may carry in it the seed of future defeat.
"And never break a treaty, for only a wretch ignores his vows, only a
traitor breaks his word. A brave man is prepared to support his least
word with his life, thereby the high-born are recognized. The churl,
on the other hand, regards his word as nothing more than the
breath of his mouth. His tongue shall be eaten of snakes, and his
evil memory will ride his soul like a nightmare for ever."
Orn had become excited. Then he was silent, composed himself
again, meditated, and was still.
When he had finished meditating, he rose solemnly and drew from
his arm a heavy gold bracelet graven with runes and signs. Ingolf
sprang up when his father rose, and remained standing before him
with bowed head, and his bright face slightly flushed.
Orn spoke: "This bracelet has for a long time belonged to our race,
and has always been an heirloom in the head branch of the family.
Some of those who bore it have worn it till their death. Others have
transferred it to the future wearer when they found that their time
was near. My son, I am growing old, and it is no use to deny it or to
hide it. Forgetfulness is getting more and more the mastery over me.
Reach me your hand."
Ingolf stretched out his right hand, and raised his head. There was a
moist glimmer in his eyes. Deeply moved, Orn drew the bracelet on
his arm. "Now you wear the ring."
Ingolf fell on his knees before the old man, and Orn made the sign
of the Hammer over his head, and said quietly: "Odin give you
wisdom, and Thor strength. Frey make your land fruitful, and Njord
guide your seafaring! All the bright Ases help thee! Rise, my son."
Ingolf rose silently. Orn laid his hands on his shoulders, looked for a
moment closely at him, and let him go. They went out into the
courtyard of the house. For a while they stood there silent, side by
side, and looked out over the landscape where the snow-covered
mountains rose and the valleys sank. Ingolf saw everything, as it
were, with new eyes. The fjord was such a crystal blue, and seemed
to have something to say to him. The dark edge of the wood, which
he caught a glimpse of here and there, held today a secret and
certain promise of the spring and the snow-free earth. The sky was
high and clear, and the day had a solemn stillness about it. The frost
in the air seemed to be relaxing. In Ingolf's eyes the whole scene
wore a solemn aspect, and seemed in a way newborn. Even the low
houses with snow-covered roofs seemed to have altered their
appearance, and looked twice as home-like. When Orn went in,
Ingolf remained standing there, and enjoyed the freshness of the
day.
Orn went straight in to the high-seat and his drinking-horn. His
throat had become dry from much talk. He emptied the horn in a
moment and had it filled afresh. He emptied the horn many times
that day.

IX
Ingolf informed Leif in carefully-chosen words that his father would
be glad if they extended the proposed brotherhood so as to include
the sons of Atle. Leif stood looking down while Ingolf talked. As soon
as Ingolf had spoken the first word, he felt sorry that he had
brought the question up at all. Leif's attitude had an effect on him.
He stood and fumbled with words which would not arrange
themselves properly.
When he finished, Leif looked up askance at him. He did not say
much at first.
Ingolf felt a profound and unusual depression. He felt as if he had in
some degree deceived Leif. "I only wished to tell you that," he tried
to add, but was quite sure that his voice did not sound convincing.
"What do you think yourself?" asked Leif at last quietly, and looked
up again, still with a rather unsteady glance.
"I have never thought about brotherhood with Atle's sons,"
answered Ingolf quietly, suddenly recovering his equilibrium. "I have
offered you brotherhood with myself alone, and am therefore
prevented from forming brotherhood with another. But I understand
from what my father said that there perhaps was a possibility that
Atle's sons would like to enter into brotherhood with us. And in such
a case I would like to know your opinion beforehand."
"I have never contemplated forming brotherhood with Holmsten,"
answered Leif in a quiet, firm voice, quite different from his usual
one. "In fact, I do not choose to be everybody's brother."
"Well, let us say no more about it." Ingolf tried to speak lightly.
But Leif continued. There was a tremor of swelling wrath and
distress in his quiet voice. "I understand well that for you a
brotherhood with Atle's sons is quite a different thing from
brotherhood with me. By entering into the blood-tie with them you
gain power and consideration. Do you enter alone into brotherhood
with Atle Jarl's sons; I will not stand in the way. I release you from
your word. I am able to stand alone."
Ingolf paused a little and then said: "You misunderstand me, Leif. I
only want to bring the matter before you. It is possible that I should
not have done that. But I took for granted that we might already
talk together like brothers. I will gladly confess that, for my part, I
might think it good to enter into brotherhood with Atle's sons—yes, I
should even like to have Haasten for a brother. But I could not think
of entering into any brotherhood without you. There is no one else
whom I would rather be brother to, and that you know well, or
ought to know. No power could induce me to release you from your
word, Leif."
Leif stood thoughtful awhile. Then he raised his head and looked in
Ingolf's eyes with a firm and trustful look. "I know well," he said in
the same quiet tone, "that I am not the best brother you could have.
But you shall never have reason to find fault with my faithfulness. I
imagine, Ingolf, that you are afraid that I shall some day be the
cause of enmity between you and Atle's sons. With my good will that
shall not happen. My temper shall never again get the mastery of
me before Holmsten. That I swear to you. I know that you like
Holmsten, and that you wish to preserve that friendship. You shall
see that you can trust me."
The two cousins pressed each other's hands in silence. They referred
no more to the matter.

X
There came a beggar to the house: an old bent man, clothed in dirty
rags and torn leather, entered the hall one evening and took a place
by the fire on the outer-most bench. There he sat and warmed his
crooked fingers, that were blue with cold, and meanwhile squinted
about him with pale, cunning eyes. As he sat there, his yellow beard,
in which a quantity of nondescript rubbish had been caught, hung
down between his legs. His grey hair lay in tatters over his back. But
his powerful eyebrows were the most marked feature in his face.
Grey and bushy, they almost concealed his eyes when they were
lowered, and he had a habit sometimes of drawing them both up
together and slightly lifting one at a time, which gave his face a
strangely mobile, almost animal, expression.
He was questioned regarding news from the north, but had little
information to give. As soon as it was evident that he had nothing
important to communicate, he was allowed to sit in peace and warm
himself. It seemed as if he valued being left to himself. When he had
sat for a while and warmed his hands, he loosed the rags from off
his legs and stretched his feet to the fire. They were a marvel of
knotted bones and dirt. He looked exhausted. Some remains of the
evening meal were brought him. He received the food with a grunt,
set it upon his knee, and began eating. With eager hands he first
sought the best bits, and, groping about in the food, turned the
contents of the dish round, chewing with his whole head. He
certainly could eat.
Ingolf and Leif had sought a place near him, and sat looking
attentively at him.
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