Such
act is evidence of a child's most wonderful hero-worship. Quite
content was Rol, and more than content when Sweyn paused a minute
to joke, and pat his head and pull his curls. Quiet he remained,
as long as quiescence is possible to limbs young as his. Sweyn
forgot he was near, hardly noticed when his leg was gently
released, and never saw the stealthy abstraction of one of his
tools.
[Illustration: Rol's Worship]
Ten minutes thereafter was a lamentable wail from low on the
floor, rising to the full pitch of Rol's healthy lungs; for his
hand was gashed across, and the copious bleeding terrified him.
Then was there soothing and comforting, washing and binding, and a
modicum of scolding, till the loud outcry sank into occasional
sobs, and the child, tear-stained and subdued, was returned to the
chimney-corner settle, where Trella nodded.
In the reaction after pain and fright, Rol found that the quiet of
that fire-lit corner was to his mind. Tyr, too, disdained him no
longer, but, roused by his sobs, showed all the concern and
sympathy that a dog can by licking and wistful watching. A little
shame weighed also upon his spirits. He wished he had not cried
quite so much. He remembered how once Sweyn had come home with his
arm torn down from the shoulder, and a dead bear; and how he had
never winced nor said a word, though his lips turned white with
pain. Poor little Rol gave another sighing sob over his own
faint-hearted shortcomings.
Pages:
1
2
3
4
5
6
7
8
9
10
11
12
13
14
15
16
17
18
19
20
21
22
23
24
25