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Updated: May 20, 2025
But then both he and his father would have to be buried by the parish. There were only his shoulders to carry the burden. If they both rested in a shameful grave, it would be his fault he hadn't the heart to do it. Little Snjolfur's head hurt with all this hard thinking. He felt he wanted to give up and let things slide. But how can a man give up when he has nowhere to live?
I don't know what the funeral will cost yet, replied the orphan in worried tones. At any rate I should need enough to pay for Snjolfur's funeral. Then I should count myself lucky. Then let's say that, struck in the factor, and went on to say that he would see about the coffin and everything there was no need for little Snjolfur to fret about it any more.
There was never a truer word spoken, agreed the factor, and as he said it he pulled his handkerchief out of his pocket. He's a chip of the old block, he muttered, and putting his hand on little Snjolfur's shoulder, he blessed him. The boy was astonished to see a grown man with tears in his eyes.
Snjolfur's wife worked at fish-drying for the factor in the summer months, but good drying-days could not be counted on and the money was not much. She lived just long enough to bring little Snjolfur into the world, and the last thing she did was to decide his name. From then on, father and son lived alone in the cabin. Little Snjolfur had vague memories of times of desperate misery.
The advancing spring found them pale and hollow- cheeked, plagued by bad dreams, so that night after night they lay awake together. And one such spring, a spring moreover that had been colder and stormier than usual, with hardly a single day of decent weather, evil chance paid another visit to old Snjolfur's home.
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