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Page 2
The priest looked up and recognized him.
"You come well attended this evening, Thord," said he.
"I am here to request that the banns may be published for my son;
he is about to marry Karen Storliden, daughter of Gudmund, who
stands here beside me."
"Why, that is the richest girl in the parish."
"So they say," replied the peasant, stroking back his hair with
one hand.
The priest sat a while as if in deep thought, then entered the
names in his book, without making any comments, and the men wrote
their signatures underneath. Thord laid three dollars on the
table.
"One is all I am to have," said the priest.
"I know that very well; but he is my only child, I want to do it
handsomely."
The priest took the money.
"This is now the third time, Thord, that you have come here on
your son's account."
"But now I am through with him," said Thord, and folding up his
pocket-book he said farewell and walked away.
The men slowly followed him.
A fortnight later, the father and son were rowing across the lake,
one calm, still day, to Storliden to make arrangements for the
wedding.
"This thwart is not secure," said the son, and stood up to
straighten the seat on which he was sitting.
At the same moment the board he was standing on slipped from under
him; he threw out his arms, uttered a shriek, and fell overboard.
"Take hold of the oar!" shouted the father, springing to his feet
and holding out the oar.
But when the son had made a couple of efforts he grew stiff.
"Wait a moment!" cried the father, and began to row toward his
son. Then the son rolled over on his back, gave his father one
long look, and sank.
Thord could scarcely believe it; he held the boat still, and
stared at the spot where his son had gone down, as though he must
surely come to the surface again. There rose some bubbles, then
some more, and finally one large one that burst; and the lake lay
there as smooth and bright as a mirror again.
For three days and three nights people saw the father rowing round
and round the spot, without taking either food or sleep; he was
dragging the lake for the body of his son. And toward morning of
the third day he found it, and carried it in his arms up over the
hills to his gard.
It might have been about a year from that day, when the priest,
late one autumn evening, heard some one in the passage outside of
the door, carefully trying to find the latch. The priest opened
the door, and in walked a tall, thin man, with bowed form and
white hair. The priest looked long at him before he recognized
him. It was Thord.
"Are you out walking so late?" said the priest, and stood still in
front of him.
"Ah, yes! it is late," said Thord, and took a seat.
The priest sat down also, as though waiting. A long, long silence
followed. At last Thord said:
"I have something with me that I should like to give to the poor;
I want it to be invested as a legacy in my son's name."
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