it about her leg. Olav hung her clothes over the rail of the balcony.
“You must have a cloak with you—do you not see we shall have showers today?”
“My cloak is down with Mother—I forgot to take it with me last night. It looks now like fine weather—but if there comes a shower, we shall find some place to creep under.”
“What if it rains while we are in the boat? You cannot walk in the town without a cloak either. But I see well enough you will borrow my cloak, as is your way.”
Ingunn looked up at him over her shoulder. “Why are you so cross today, Olav?”—and she began to be busy with her footgear again.
Olav was ready with an answer; but as she bent down to her shoe, the smock slipped from her shoulders, baring her bosom and upper arm. And instantly a wave of new feelings swept over theboy—he stood still, bashful and confused, and could not take his eyes off this glimpse of her naked body. It was as though he had never seen it before; a new light was thrown on what he knew of old—as with a sudden landslip within him, his feelings for his foster-sister came to rest in a new order. With a burst of fervour he felt a tenderness that had in it both pity and a touch of pride; her shoulders sank so weakly in a slant to the faint rounding of the shoulder-joint; the thin, white upper arms looked soft, as though she had no muscles under the silky skin—the boy’s senses were tricked with a vision of corn that is as yet but milky, before it has fully ripened. He had a mind to stoop down and pat her consolingly—such was his sudden sense of the difference between her feeble softness and his own wiry, muscular body. Oft had he looked at her before, in the bath-house, and at himself, his hard, tough, well-rounded chest, his muscles firmly braced over the stomach, and swelling into a knot as he bent his arm. With childish pride he had rejoiced that he was a boy.
Now this self-glorious sense of being strong and well made became strangely shot through with tenderness, because she was so weak—he would know how to protect her. He would gladly have put his arm around that slender back, clasped her little girlish breasts beneath his hand. He called to mind that day last spring when he himself had fallen on his chest over a log—it was where Gunleik’s new house was building—he had torn both his clothes and his flesh. With a shudder in which were mingled horror and sweetness he thought that never more would he let Ingunn climb up on the roof with them at Gunleik’s farm.
He blushed as she looked at him.
“You are staring? Mother will never know I have borrowed her smock; she never wears it herself.”
“Do you not feel the cold?” he asked; and Ingunn’s surprise was yet greater, for he spoke as low and shyly as though she had really come to some hurt in their game.
“Oh, not enough to make my nails go blue,” she said laughing.
“No, but can you not get your clothes on quickly?” he said anxiously. “You have goose-flesh on your arms.”
“If I could but get my smock together—” The edges at the throat were stiff with sewing; she struggled, but could not get the stuff through the tiny ring of her brooch.
Olav laid down the whole load that he had just taken on his back. “I will lend you mine—it has a bigger ring.” He took the gold brooch from his bosom and handed it to her. Ingunn looked at him, amazed. She had pestered him to lend her this trinket before now, but that he himself should offer to let her wear it was something new, for it was a costly jewel, of pure gold and fairly big. Along the outer edge were inscribed the Angel’s Greeting and
Amor vincit omnia
. Her kinsman Arnvid Finnsson said that in the Norse tongue this meant “Love conquers all things,” since the Lady Sancta Maria conquers all the malice of the fiend by her loving supplication.
Ingunn had put on her red holy-day garments and bound her silken girdle about her waist—she combed her tangled hair with her
“You must have a cloak with you—do you not see we shall have showers today?”
“My cloak is down with Mother—I forgot to take it with me last night. It looks now like fine weather—but if there comes a shower, we shall find some place to creep under.”
“What if it rains while we are in the boat? You cannot walk in the town without a cloak either. But I see well enough you will borrow my cloak, as is your way.”
Ingunn looked up at him over her shoulder. “Why are you so cross today, Olav?”—and she began to be busy with her footgear again.
Olav was ready with an answer; but as she bent down to her shoe, the smock slipped from her shoulders, baring her bosom and upper arm. And instantly a wave of new feelings swept over theboy—he stood still, bashful and confused, and could not take his eyes off this glimpse of her naked body. It was as though he had never seen it before; a new light was thrown on what he knew of old—as with a sudden landslip within him, his feelings for his foster-sister came to rest in a new order. With a burst of fervour he felt a tenderness that had in it both pity and a touch of pride; her shoulders sank so weakly in a slant to the faint rounding of the shoulder-joint; the thin, white upper arms looked soft, as though she had no muscles under the silky skin—the boy’s senses were tricked with a vision of corn that is as yet but milky, before it has fully ripened. He had a mind to stoop down and pat her consolingly—such was his sudden sense of the difference between her feeble softness and his own wiry, muscular body. Oft had he looked at her before, in the bath-house, and at himself, his hard, tough, well-rounded chest, his muscles firmly braced over the stomach, and swelling into a knot as he bent his arm. With childish pride he had rejoiced that he was a boy.
Now this self-glorious sense of being strong and well made became strangely shot through with tenderness, because she was so weak—he would know how to protect her. He would gladly have put his arm around that slender back, clasped her little girlish breasts beneath his hand. He called to mind that day last spring when he himself had fallen on his chest over a log—it was where Gunleik’s new house was building—he had torn both his clothes and his flesh. With a shudder in which were mingled horror and sweetness he thought that never more would he let Ingunn climb up on the roof with them at Gunleik’s farm.
He blushed as she looked at him.
“You are staring? Mother will never know I have borrowed her smock; she never wears it herself.”
“Do you not feel the cold?” he asked; and Ingunn’s surprise was yet greater, for he spoke as low and shyly as though she had really come to some hurt in their game.
“Oh, not enough to make my nails go blue,” she said laughing.
“No, but can you not get your clothes on quickly?” he said anxiously. “You have goose-flesh on your arms.”
“If I could but get my smock together—” The edges at the throat were stiff with sewing; she struggled, but could not get the stuff through the tiny ring of her brooch.
Olav laid down the whole load that he had just taken on his back. “I will lend you mine—it has a bigger ring.” He took the gold brooch from his bosom and handed it to her. Ingunn looked at him, amazed. She had pestered him to lend her this trinket before now, but that he himself should offer to let her wear it was something new, for it was a costly jewel, of pure gold and fairly big. Along the outer edge were inscribed the Angel’s Greeting and
Amor vincit omnia
. Her kinsman Arnvid Finnsson said that in the Norse tongue this meant “Love conquers all things,” since the Lady Sancta Maria conquers all the malice of the fiend by her loving supplication.
Ingunn had put on her red holy-day garments and bound her silken girdle about her waist—she combed her tangled hair with her
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