The room in question was eleven feet long by seven broad; the window was so small and so covered with dirt that, although the sun was shining in its full glory, I could scarcely see to write.

The walls, and even the floor, were boarded--a great piece of luxury in a country where wood is so scarce.
The furniture consisted of a broad bedstead, two chests of drawers, and a small table.

Chairs and benches are a kind of _terra incognita_ in the dwellings of the Icelandic peasantry; besides, I do not know where such articles could be stowed in a room of such dimensions as that which I occupied.
My hostess, the widow of a wealthy peasant, introduced to me her four children, who were very handsome, and very neatly dressed.

I begged the good mother to tell me the names of the young ones, so that I might at least know a few Icelandic names.

She appeared much flattered at my request, and gave me the names as follows: Sigrudur, Gudrun, Ingebor, and Lars.
I should have felt tolerably comfortable in my present quarters, accustomed as I am to bear privations of all kinds with indifference, if they would but have left me in peace.