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
the door, carefully trying to find the latch. The priest opened
the door, and in walked a tall, thin man, with bowed form and
white hair. The priest looked long at him before he recognized
him. It was Thord.
"Are you out walking so late?" said the priest, and stood still in
front of him.
"Ah, yes! it is late," said Thord, and took a seat.
The priest sat down also, as though waiting. A long, long silence
followed. At last Thord said:
"I have something with me that I should like to give to the poor;
I want it to be invested as a legacy in my son's name."
He rose, laid some money on the table, and sat down again. The
priest counted it.
"It is a great deal of money," said he.
"It is half the price of my gard. I sold it today."
The priest sat long in silence. At last he asked, but gently:
"What do you propose to do now, Thord?"
"Something better.
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