***

When the long procession of carts and wagons had crossed the bridge, it came to the churchyard.  In the churchyard there was a large flat gravestone that was crumbling from age.  It bore neither name nor date, but according to tradition, the bones of an ancestor of the Ljung family rested under it.

When Ljung Bjoern Olafsson, who was now going to Jerusalem, and his brother Pehr were children, they had once sat on that stone and talked.  At first they were as chummy as could be; then all at once they got to quarrelling about something, became very much excited, and raised their voices.  What they quarrelled about they had long since forgotten, but what they never could forget was, that while they were quarreling the hardest, they heard several distinct and deliberate rappings on the stone where they were seated.  They broke off instantly.  Then they took each other by the hand, and stole quietly away.  Afterward, they could never see that stone without thinking of this incident.

And now, when Ljung Bjoern was driving past the churchyard, who should he see but his brother Pehr, sitting on that selfsame stone, with his head resting on his hands.  Ljung Bjoern reined in his horse, and signalled to the others to wait for him.  He got down from the cart, climbed over the cemetery wall, and went and sat on the stone beside his brother.

Pehr Olafsson immediately said:  “So you sold the farm, Bjoern!”

“Yes,” answered Bjoern.  “I have given all I owned to God.”

“But the farm was not yours,” the brother mildly protested.

“Not mine?”

“No, it belonged to the family.”

Ljung Bjoern did not reply, but sat quietly waiting.  He knew that when his brother had seated himself on that stone, it was for the purpose of speaking words of peace.  Therefore, he was not afraid of what Pehr might say.

“I have bought back the farm,” said the brother.

Ljung Bjoern gave a start.  “Couldn’t you bear to have it go out of the family?” he asked.

“I’m hardly rich enough to do such things for that reason.”

Bjoern looked at his brother inquiringly.

“I did it that you might have something to come back to.”

Bjoern was overwhelmed, and could hardly keep the tears back.

“And that your children may have a place to come back to—­”

Bjoern put his arm around his brother’s neck.

“—­and for the sake of my dear sister-in-law,” said Pehr.  “It will be good for her to know that she has a house and home waiting for her.  The old home will always be open to any of you who may want to come back.”

“Pehr, take my place in the cart and go to Jerusalem, and I’ll stay at home.  You are far more worthy to enter the Promised Land than I am.”

“No, no!” said the brother smilingly.  “I understand how you mean it, but I guess I fit in better at home.”

“I think you’re more fit for Heaven,” said Bjoern, laying his head on his brother’s shoulder.  “Now you must forgive me everything,” he said.