it. This place is called Tongue." "Who lives here?" said she. He
answered, "You know that, mother." [Sidenote: She eggs on her sons]
Thorgerd said and snorted, "I know that well enough," she said. "Here
lives Bolli, the slayer of your brother, and marvellously unlike your
noble kindred you turn out in that you will not avenge such a brother
as Kjartan was; never would Egil, your mother's father, have behaved
in such a manner; and a piteous thing it is to have dolts for sons;
indeed, I think it would have suited you better if you had been your
father's daughter and had married. For here, Halldor, it comes to the
old saw: 'No stock without a duffer,' and this is the ill-luck of
Olaf I see most clearly, how he blundered in begetting his sons. This
I would bring home to you, Halldor," says she, "because you look upon
yourself as being the foremost among your brothers. Now we will turn
back again, for all my errand here was to put you in mind of this,
lest you should have forgotten it already." Then Halldor answered, "We
shall not put it down as your fault, mother, if this should slip out
of our minds." By way of answer Halldor had few words to say about
this, but his heart swelled with wrath towards Bolli. The winter now
passed and summer came, and time glided on towards the Thing. Halldor
and his brothers made it known that they will ride to the Thing. They
rode with a great company, and set up the booth Olaf had owned. The
Thing was quiet, and no tidings to tell of it. There were at the Thing
from the north the Willowdale men, the sons of Gudmund Solmundson.
Bardi Gudmundson was then eighteen winters old; he was a great and
strong man. The sons of Olaf asked Bardi, their nephew, to go home
with them, and added many pressing words to the invitation. Hall, the
son of Gudmund, was not in Iceland then. Bardi took up their bidding
gladly, for there was much love between those kinsmen. Bardi rode west
from the Thing with the sons of Olaf. They came home to Herdholt, and
Bardi tarried the rest of the summer time.