"This thwart 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 holding out the oar.

But when the son had made a couple of efforts he grew stiff.

"Wait a moment!" cried the father, and began to row toward his
son. Then the son rolled over on his back, gave his father one
long look, and sank.

Thord could scarcely believe it; he held the boat still, and
stared at the spot where his son had gone down, as though he must
surely come to the surface again. There rose some bubbles, then
some more, and finally one large one that burst; and the lake lay
there as smooth and bright as a mirror again.

For three days and three nights people saw the father rowing round
and round the spot, without taking either food or sleep; he was
dragging the lake for the body of his son. And toward morning of
the third day he found it, and carried it in his arms up over the
hills to his gard.

It might have been about a year from that day, when the priest,
late one autumn evening, heard some one in the passage outside of