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“Aud,” said he, “yon was a most uncanny thing at Netherness.”

“No doubt,” said Aud.

“I have never had it in my mind,” said he, “that yon woman was the thing she should be.”

“I dare say not,” said Aud. “I never thought so either.”

“It stands beyond question she was more than canny,” says Finnward, shaking his head. “No manner of doubt but what she was ancient of mind.”

“She was getting pretty old in body, too,” says Aud.

“Wife,” says he, “it comes in upon me strongly this is no kind of woman to disobey; above all, being dead and her walking. I think, wife, we must even do as she commanded.”

“Now what is ever your word?” says she, riding up close and setting her hand upon his shoulder. “‘The goodwife’s pleasure must be done’; is not that my Finnward?”

“The good God knows I grudge you nothing,” cried Finnward. “But my blood runs cold upon this business. Worse will come of it!” he cried, “worse will flow from it!”

“What is this todo?” cries Aud. “Here is an old brimstone hag that should have been stoned with stones, and hated me besides. Vainly she tried to frighten me when she was living; shall she frighten me now when she is dead and rotten? I trow not. Think shame to your beard, goodman! Are these a man’s shoes I see you shaking in, when your wife rides by your bridle-hand, as bold as nails?”

“Ay, ay,” quoth Finnward. “But there goes a byword in the country: Little wit, little fear.”

At this Aud began to be concerned, for he was usually easier to lead. So now she tried the other method on the man.

“Is that your word?” cried she. “I kiss the hands of ye! If I have not wit enough, I can rid you of my company. Wit is it he seeks?” she cried. “The old broomstick that we buried yesterday had wit for you.”

So she rode on ahead and looked not the road that he was on.

Poor Finnward followed on his horse, but the light of the day was gone out, for his wife was like his life to him. He went six miles and was true to his heart; but the seventh was not half through when he rode up to her.

“Is it to be the goodwife’s pleasure?” she asked.

“Aud, you shall have your way,” says he; “God grant there come no ill of it!”

So she made much of him, and his heart was comforted.

When they came to the house, Aud had the two chests to her own bed-place, and gloated all night on what she found. Finnward looked on, and trouble darkened his mind.

“Wife,” says he at last, “you will not forget these things belong to Asdis?”

At that she barked upon him like a dog.

“Am I a thief?” she cried. “The brat shall have them in her turn when she grows up. Would you have me give her them now to turn her minx’s head with?”

So the weak man went his way out of the house in sorrow and fell to his affairs. Those that wrought with him that day observed that now he would labour and toil like a man furious, and now would sit and stare like one stupid; for in truth he judged the business would end ill.

For a while there was no more done and no more said. Aud cherished her treasures by herself, and none was the wiser except Finnward. Only the cloak she sometimes wore, for that was hers by the will of the dead wife; but the others she let lie, because she knew she had them foully, and she feared Finnward somewhat and Thorgunna much.

At last husband and wife were bound to bed one night, and he was the first stripped and got in. “What sheets are these?” he screamed, as his legs touched them, for these were smooth as water, but the sheets of Iceland were like sacking.