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[2] 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