When Karlsefin had been introduced to Leif Ericsson, the former turned round and presented to him and Biarne his friend Thorward, the captain of the other ship. Thorward was not a tall man, but was very broad and stout, and had a firm yet pleasing cast of countenance. Both Thorward and Karlsefin were men of about thirty-five years of age.

 

“Are you not on viking-cruise?” asked Leif as they walked up to the house together, while the male members of his household and the men of the settlement assisted the crews to moor the ships.

 

“No; my friend Thorward and I are not men of war. We prefer the peaceful occupation of the merchant, and, to say truth, it is not unprofitable.”

 

“I would that more were of your way of thinking,” said Leif. “I do not love the bloody game of war, and glad am I that we have got into a quiet corner here in Greenland, where there is small occasion for it. Biarne, too, is of our way of thinking, as no doubt you already know.”

 

“He has often told me so, and, if I mistake not, has feathered his nest well by merchanting.”

 

“He has,” answered Biarne for himself, with a laugh.

 

While they thus advanced, talking, little Olaf had kept walking in front of the tall stranger, looking up into his face with unbounded admiration. He had never before seen any man so magnificent. His father and Biarne, whom he had hitherto regarded as perfect specimens of mankind, were quite eclipsed. Looking backward and walking forward is an unsafe process at any time. So Olaf found it on the present occasion, for he tripped over a stone and in falling hit his little nose with such violence that it soon became a big nose, and bled profusely.

 

Karlsefin picked him up and set him on his legs. “My poor boy, don’t cry,” he said.

 

“No fear of him crying,” observed Leif; “he never cries,—save when his feelings are hurt. When you touch these he is addicted to blubbering.—Run, lad, and Gudrid will wash you.”

 

Olaf bounded into the house, where he was carried off to a sleeping-room and there carefully sponged by the sympathetic Gudrid. “Oh!—” he exclaimed, while his face was being washed.

 

“Does it pain you much, dear?” said the pretty aunt, interrupting him.

 

“Oh!” he continued, enthusiastically, “I never did see such a splendid man before.”

 

“What splendid man, child?”

 

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