and dining room all in one.

On our entrance, our worthy host, as if he had not seen us before,
advanced ceremoniously, uttered a word which means "be happy," and then
kissed both of us on the cheek.

His wife followed, pronounced the same word, with the same ceremonial,
then the husband and wife, placing their right hands upon their hearts,
bowed profoundly.

This excellent Icelandic woman was the mother of nineteen children, who,
little and big, rolled, crawled, and walked about in the midst of
volumes of smoke arising from the angular fireplace in the middle of the
room. Every now and then I could see a fresh white head, and a slightly
melancholy expression of countenance, peering at me through the vapor.

Both my uncle and myself, however, were very friendly with the whole
party, and before we were aware of it, there were three or four of these
little ones on our shoulders, as many on our boxes, and the rest hanging
about our legs. Those who could speak kept crying out saellvertu in
every possible and impossible key. Those who did not speak only made all
the more noise.

This concert was interrupted by the announcement of supper. At this
moment our worthy guide, the eider-duck hunter, came in after seeing to
the feeding and stabling of the horses--which consisted in letting them
loose to browse on the stunted green of the Icelandic prairies. There
was little for them to eat, but moss and some very dry and innutritious
grass; next day they were ready before the door, some time before we
were.

"Welcome," said Hans.

Then tranquilly, with the air of an automaton, without any more
expression in one kiss than another, he embraced the host and hostess
and their nineteen children.

This ceremony concluded to the satisfaction of all parties, we all sat
down to table, that is twenty-four of us, somewhat crowded. Those who
were best off had only two juveniles on their knees.

As soon, however, as the inevitable soup was placed on the table, the
natural taciturnity, common even to Icelandic babies, prevailed over all
else. Our host filled our plates with a portion of lichen soup of
Iceland moss, of by no means disagreeable flavor, an enormous lump of
fish floating in sour butter. After that there came some skyr, a kind of
curds and whey, served with biscuits and juniper-berry juice. To drink,
we had blanda, skimmed milk with water. I was hungry, so hungry, that by
way of dessert I finished up with a basin of thick