heir coffee always went fishing. The old man usually kept
very still on these occasions, so as not to scare the fish away,
but this year was the exception. He spoke to the son time and
again. His words came with difficulty, as always, still there
seemed to be more life in him now than ordinarily. Evidently there
was something special he wanted to say, or rather something he
wished to draw from his son. He was like one who stands outside an
empty house shouting and calling, in the hope that somebody will
come and open the door to him.

He harked back to Lars Gunnarson several times, relating in part
what had occurred at the catechetical meeting, and he even dragged
in all the gossip that had been circulated about Lars in the
Ashdales since Eric's death.

The son granted that Lars might not be altogether blameless; if he
had now begun drinking it was a bad sign.

"I'm curious to see how he'll get through this day," said Ol'
Bengtsa.

Just then the son felt a nibble, and did not have to answer. There
was nothing in this whole story that had any bearing upon the
common interests of himself and his father, yet he could not but
feel there was some hidden intent back of the old man's words.

"I hope he'll drive over to the parsonage this evening," pursued
Ol' Bengtsa. "There is forgiveness of sins for him who will seek
it."

A long silence ensued. The son was too busy baiting his hook to
think of replying. Besides, this was not anything which called for
a response. Presently there came from the old man such a heavy sigh
that he had to look over toward him.

"Father! Can't you see you've got a nibble? I believe you are
letting the perch jerk the rod away from you."

The old man quickly pulled up his line and released the fish from
the hook. His fingers seemed to be all thumbs and the perch slipped
from his hands back into the water.

"It isn't meant that I shall catch any fish to-day, however much I
may want to."

Yes, there was certainly something he wished the son to say--to
Confess--but surely he did not expect him to liken himself to one
who was suspected of having caused the death of his father-in-law?

Ol' Bengtsa did not bait his hook again. He stood upon a stone,
with his hands folded--his half-dead eyes fixed on the smooth water.

"Yes--there is pardon for all," he said musingly, "for all who let
their old parents lie waiting and freezing in icy chilliness--
pardon even to this day. But afterward it wi