"Oh, you mean Jan of Ruffluck! Well, he has been in his right mind since last fall. He'll not be at the party, either. He's only a poor crofter like myself; so him you'll not miss, of course." This was true enough. However, the son was so glad of an excuse to speak of some one other than Lars Gunnarson, that he asked with genuine concern what was wrong with Jan of Ruffluck. "Oh, he's just sick from pining for a daughter who went away about two years ago, and who never writes to him." "The girl who went wrong?" "So you knew about it, eh? But it isn't because of that he's grieving himself to death. It is the awful hardness and lack of love that he can't bear up under." This forced colloquy was becoming intolerable. It made the son feel all the more uncomfortable. "I'm going over to the stone farthest out," he said. "I see a lot of fish splashing round it." By that move he was out of earshot of his father, and there was no further conversation between them for the remainder of the forenoon. But go where he would, he felt that the dim, lustreless eyes of the old man were following him. And this time he was actually glad when the guests arrived. The dinner was served out of doors. When Ol' Bengtsa had taken his place at the board he tried to cast off all worry and anxiety. When acting as host at a party, so much of the Ol' Bengtsa of bygone days came to the fore it was easy to guess what manner of man he had once been. No one from Falla was present. But it was plain that Lars Gunnarson was in every one's thoughts; which was not surprising since this was the day he had been warned to look out for. Now of course Ol' Bengtsa's son had to listen to further talk about the catechetical meeting at Falla, and he heard more about the pastor's extraordinary dissertation on the duties of children toward their parents than he cared to hear. However, he said nothing; but Ol' Bengtsa must have noticed that he was beginning to be bored, for he turned to him with the remark: "What do you say to all this, Nils? I suppose you're sitting there thinking to yourself it's very strange Our Lord hasn't written a commandment for parents on how they shall treat their children?" This was wholly unexpected. The son could feel the blood mounting to his face. It was as if he had done something dreadful, and been caught at it. "But my dear father!" he protested, "I've never said or thought--" "True," the old man struck in, turning now to his guests. "I know you will hardly believe what I tell you, but it's a fact that this son of mine has never spoken an unkind word to me; neither has his wife." These remarks were not addressed to any one in particular, nor did any one feel disposed to respond to them.