"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 will be too late!"
Surely this could never have been said for the son's benefit. The father was no doubt thinking aloud, as is the habit of old people.
Anyhow, the son thought he would try to make the old man talk about something else. So he said:
"How is the man who went crazy last year getting on?"
"Oh, you mean Jan of Ruffluck! Well, he has been in his right mind since last fall. He'll not be at the party, either. He's only a poor crofter like myself; so him you'll not miss, of course."