Helga.—­What chieftain would you most want to be like?

Kalf.—­The one who commands the greatest army.

Helga.—­You want to command a great army, foster-son?

Kalf.—­Yes, and be victorious in many battles.

Helga (placing KALF on her knee).—­I think as before about my foster-son Half.  In him you will bring up a man fit to be a chieftain, Jorun, though I know not how fit you are for that task.

Jorun.—­My sons will have to be satisfied with such bringing up as I am able to give them.

Helga,—­Which chieftain would you most like to be?

Kalf.—­Kolbein the Young.

Helga.—­Older people ought to say that! (To THORGEIR.) But what do you most like to become, little tot? (THORGEIR comes up to her.)

Thorgeir.—­Like father. (Puts a finger into his mouth.)

Helga.—­Do you want to be a priest?

Thorgeir.—­I want to be like my papa. (HELGA gazes at him; he retires behind his mother, concealing his face in her gown, and cries.)

Jorun.—­You must not make my boy cry, lady.

Helga—­You may keep that boy yourself.  But give me your boy Kalf along to Flugumyr, for that would further reconciliations.  I wish to be the mother of a chieftain.

Kalf.—­Will you give me sword and helmet, and shield, then?

Helga.—­Yes, my boy, a shield with an eagle on it.

Jorun.—­A woman who herself has no children is not destined to be mother to a chieftain.  My son Kalf shall never come into your hands whilst I live.  I wish him to learn works of peace, and not warfare and slaughter.

Helga.—­Let your Thorgeir be ordained priest, as kinsmen of yours have done. (Stands KALF on the floor, getting up herself and stroking him on his head.) But be careful to raise Kalf in such a manner that he become a successor to my husband and his father.

Jorun.—­Go now, boys! (The boys leave the room.) You say that Kalf will be the successor of your husband and of his father?

Helga.—­You know about the ill health of my husband Kolbein, which may take him away earlier than one might suspect.  And yet it may be that Brand Kolbeinsson will not live even as long as he.

Jorun.—­What is that you say?  As a fact I know that Hjalti, the son of the bishop, is not coming from the South to settle our differences!

Helga (laughs).—­He, the cod-biter!  His men were all at the fishing-stations when Asbjorn arrived in the South.  Hjalti is coming by no means, and my husband is raging at him.

Jorun.—­You must have stirred up Kolbein the Young in this matter as never before.  Did you not drive home with the corpse of Thorolf, saying to him that there was life in him still; but when he took Thorolf out of your sleigh his head rolled about Kolbein’s feet.  Nor was that to be wondered at, considering the love that was between you and Thorolf.