r. "I'll not stay at home and be your servant even though you
are my father. I prefer to go out in the world and make a home for
myself, for I must be as good a man as you are, or the feeling of
comradeship between us will soon end." "That can end at any time,
if you choose to go your own ways," Bjoern Hindrickson told him.
Then the son had gone up into the wilderness northeast of Dove
Lake, and had settled in the wildest and least populated region,
where he broke ground for a farm of his own. His land lay in Bro
parish, and he was never again seen in Svartsjoe. Not in thirty
years had his parents laid eyes on him. But a week ago, when old
Bjoern was nearing the end, he had come home.

This was good news to Jan of Ruffluck. The Sunday before, when
Katrina got back from church and told him that Bjoern was dying, he
immediately asked whether the son had been sent for. But it seems
he had not. Katrina had heard that Bjoern's wife had begged and
implored the old man to let her send for their son and that he
would not hear of it. He wanted to die in peace, he said.

But Jan was not satisfied to let the matter rest there. The thought
of Linnart away out in the wilds, knowing nothing of his father's
grave condition had caused him to disregard old Bjoern's wishes and
go tell the son himself. He had heard nothing as to the outcome
until now, and he was so interested in what the two old spinsters
were saying, that he quite forgot to think about either the first
or the second table.

When the son returned he and the father were as nice as could be to
each other. The old man laughed at the son's attire. "So you've
come in your working clothes," he said. "I suppose I should have
dressed up, since it's Sunday," Linnart replied. "But we've had so
much rain up our way this summer and I had thought of hauling in
some oats to-day." "Did you manage to get in any?" the old man
asked him. "I got one wagon loaded, but that I left standing in the
field when word came that you were sick. I hurried away at once,
without stopping to change my clothes." "Who told you about it?"
the father inquired. "Some man I've never seen before," replied the
son. "It didn't occur to me to ask him who he was. He looked like a
little old beggarman." "You must find that man and thank him from
me," old Bjoern then said. "Him you must honour wherever you meet
him. He has meant well by us." The father and son were so happy
over their reconciliation that it was a