comradeship between us will soon end." "That can end at any time,
if you choose to go your own ways," Björn 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 Svartsjö. Not in thirty
years had his parents laid eyes on him. But a week ago, when old
Björn 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 Björn was dying, he
immediately asked whether the son had been sent for. But it seems
he had not. Katrina had heard that Björn'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 Björn'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