"I have come to request that the banns may be published for my son; he is to be married to Karen Storliden, daughter of Gudmund, who is here with me." "That is to say, to the richest girl in the parish." "They say so," replied the farmer, he stroked his hair up with one hand. The pastor sat a minute as in thought, he said nothing, but entered the names in his books, and the men wrote under. Thord laid three dollars on the table. "I should have only one," said the pastor. "Know that perfectly, but he is my only child; will do the thing well." The pastor took up the money: "This is the third time now, Thord, that you stand here on your son's account." "But now I am done with him," said Thord, took up his pocket book, said good night, and went. The men slowly followed. Just a fortnight after this, the father and son were rowing over the lake in still weather to Storliden, to arrange about the wedding. "The cushion is not straight," said the son, he rose up to put it right. At the same moment his foot slipped; he stretched out his arms, and with a cry fell into the water. "Catch hold of the oar!" called the father, he stood up and stuck it out. But when the son had made a few attempts, he became stiff. "Wait a minute!" cried the father, and began to row. Then the son turned backwards over, gazed earnestly at his father, and sank. Thord could scarcely believe it to be true; he kept the boat still, and stared at the spot where his son had sunk, as though he would come up again. A few bubbles rose up, a few more, then one great one, it burst--and the sea again lay bright as a mirror. For three days and three nights the father was seen to row round and round the spot without either food or sleep; he was seeking for his son. On the morning of the third day he found him, and carried him up over the hills to his farm. It would be about a year after that day, when the pastor, one autumn evening, heard something rustling outside the door in the passage, and fumbling about the lock. The door opened, and in walked a tall thin man, with bent figure and white hair. The pastor looked long at him before he recognised him; it was Thord. "Do you come so late?" asked the pastor and stood still before him. "Why yes, I do come late," said Thore, he seated himself. The pastor sat down also, as though waiting; there was a long silence. Then said Thord, "I have something with me that I wish to give to the poor,"--he rose, laid some money on the table, and sat down again. The pastor counted it: "It is a great deal of money," he said. "It is the half of my farm, which I have sold to-day." The pastor remained long sitting in silence; at last he asked, but gently: "What do you intend to do now?" "Something better." They sat there awhile, Thord with downcast eyes, the pastor with his raised to Thord. Then the pastor said slowly, and in a low tone: "I think at last your son has really become a blessing to you."