_Einar._

Perhaps you would rather stay here a little while. Let me bring a shawl for you; it is getting cold. [_Goes into the tent._

(_Ljot stands motionless looking out over the "hraun."_)

_Einar (coming from the tent)._

They are asleep in there already. Won't you put the shawl around your shoulders?

_Ljot._

I am not cold.

_Einar._

Then I'll spread it over one of the rocks for you to sit on. They are wet with dew. (_Spreads it over the stone._) There! What did you have in mind when you stood there looking out over the _hraun_?

_Ljot._

I was thinking of an old tale Jakobina once told me. It was about a young girl. She went out on the _hraun_ with bare feet to meet her sweetheart, and wherever she stepped the moss grew under her foot.

_Einar._

That's a pretty story. I can tell you one too, if you care to hear it.

It might help to quiet you a little.

_Ljot (takes his hand)._

You are so good.

_Einar (sits down; relates)._

In olden times, they say, there was an underground stream that ran straight through the country from south to north and was meant as a sign of truce between land and sea. It happened that a cross-eyed, ill-natured shark was trying to tempt a young whale to swim that stream from end to end. The whale's name was Spray-tail. He was the handsomest of all the young whales and could shoot three jets of water at once. The shark boasted that he had swum through the stream himself, but of course it was only real fishes that could do it. Spray-tail felt stung on behalf of his kin, and as the shark had told him that there were openings here and there in the roof of this underground way, he made up his mind to try his luck, trusting that he could hold his breath from one opening to another. But it fell out otherwise. Spray-tail never came back. The last ever heard of him was that some swans, in their flight over the hills, had seen a jet of blood spurting out of the ground.

The whales were in a rage and, as they thought in their grief that the land had broken truce, they goaded the sea to wreak vengeance upon it.

Are you listening?

(_Ljot nods her head._)

One night a dreadful storm broke. The sea came rushing in over the land, fell upon the rocks like a monster, and tore them to pieces. The next morning thousands of sea fowls' nests were wrecked, and where green fields had been there were black sands. Now there was sore need of wise counsel. A shrewd old raven said that the fire should be roused. All the birds agreed that the raven had spoken well, but none dared do the deed.

The raven was made judge, and decided that the spider should undertake the ticklish task, and that the eagle should carry her to the crater.

They gave the spider ten fat blue-flies to take with her. She spun herself well and firmly under some strong feathers, and off they went.

They flew over deep dales, over dreary wastes, and over glaciers. In the evening they came to the fire-mountain, and there they rested overnight, but they did not sleep much, for the fire was snoring like a giant down below in the earth. Early the next morning the eagle flew to the top of the mountain. The spider made fast her thread and spun herself slowly down into the crater. It was dark down there, and the heat and sulphur made her eyes smart, but she could see enough to make out that the fire lay sleeping under a very thin black coverlet. The spider knew nothing but the finger-language, and she moved her legs incessantly, telling fully and truly all about the havoc that was wrought, and urging the fire to come to the rescue lest the whole land be swallowed up by the sea. Yet the fire did not stir. Then the spider bent her legs up under her and let herself fall all the way down to the fire. She stretched out one leg and poked the black coverlet. From that moment she couldn't remember anything till she was lying at the rim of the crater again. She peeped down and saw that the fire had thrown off the coverlet and was red and blazing. Then the spider understood that her task was done.

Everybody knows how the fire had its reckoning with the sea and filled up whole fjords with lava and ashes.

(_Slvi is seen approaching from the "hraun."_)

_Ljot (rising)._

You must tell me that story over again some time. I could not listen rightly.

_Einar (rising)._

Who is that coming so late? (_Looking._) Now I know him; it's Slvi.

_Ljot._

I saw him a while ago walking over the _hraun_.

_Einar._

He may bring us news.

_Enter Slvi carrying a gun and with a game-bag on his back._

_Slvi._

Good evening.

_Einar._

Good evening.

_Slvi._

How good it seems to meet people! You have moved out, of course?

_Einar._

You are walking late.

_Slvi._

You will have to take the earthquake as my excuse. This has been a bad day. What has happened here at your place?

_Einar._

One of the outbuildings came down and a part of the yard-fence.

_Slvi._

At Hol one wall of the house fell. The folks barely got out. (_Lays down his gun._)

_Einar._

Was anybody hurt?