garded with undisguised contempt, were to be taken on the northward journey.
When they got to camp at the end of the first day's travel, "we came into a soft grassy meadow bordered by a little clear stream, and jumped off our horses after a ride of six hours and a half: it was a cold night, though clear and fine, and we fell hard to unpack the tents and pitch them while the guides unburdened the horses, who were soon rolling about in every direction, and then set to work diligently to feed: the tents being pitched, Magnússon and Faulkner set to work to light the fire, while Evans and I went about looking for game, about the hill spurs and the borders of a little tarn between the lava and our camp: it was light enough to see to read; wonderfully clear, but not like daylight, for there were no shadows at all: I turned back often from the slopes to look down on the little camp, and the grey smoke that now began to rise up, and felt an excitement and pleasure not easy to express: till I had to get to my shooting, which I didn't like at all: however, I shot two golden plovers and came back to camp with them."
Mr. Evans did most of the shooting that was done on the journey; Morris took no pleasure in it. "I had to see to my gun," he complains later, "which was rather a heavy charge all through the journey, wanting as much attention as a baby with croup."
From this camping-place they proceeded eastward to the Njala country by Eyrarbakki and Oddi, where they were entertained by Dean Asmundr, "a little hard-bitten apple-cheeked old man, extremely hospitable." "It was a beautiful evening still, and even the eastern sky we saw behind the great mountains of the Eyjafell range was quite red. Oddi lies on a marked knoll or slope, above a great stretch of boggy land
