“In any case, it must be as God wills,” he said.

Now Big Ingmar was no longer either awkward or slow.  As he plunged into the raging river, he planted his boat hook firmly into the bottom, so as not to be carried away by the current, and he took good care to dodge the floating ice and driftwood.  When the raft with the children was quite near, he pressed his feet down in the river bed, thrust out his boat hook, and got a purchase on it.

“Hold on tight!” he shouted to the children, for just then the raft made a sudden turn and all its planks creaked.  But the wretched structure held together, and Big Ingmar managed to pull it out of the strongest current.  That done, he let go of it, for he knew that the raft would now drift shoreward by itself.

Touching bottom with his boat hook again, he turned to go back to the bank.  This time, however, he failed to notice a huge log that was coming toward him with a rush.  It caught him in the side just below the armpit.  It was a terrific blow, for the log was hurled against him with a violent force that sent him staggering in the water.  Yet he kept a tight grip on the boat hook until he reached the bank.  When he again stood on firm ground, he hardly dared touch his body, for he felt that his chest had been crushed.  Then his mouth suddenly filled with blood.  “It’s all up with you, Ingmar!” he thought, and sank down on the bank, for he could not go a step farther.  The little children whom he had rescued gave the alarm, and soon people came running down to the bank, and Big Ingmar was carried home.

The pastor was called in, and he remained at the Ingmar Farm the whole afternoon.  On his way home, he stopped at the schoolmaster’s.  He had experienced things in the course of the day which he felt the need of telling to some one who would understand.

Storm and Mother Stina were deeply grieved, for they had already heard that Ingmar Ingmarsson was dead.  The clergyman, on the other hand, looked almost radiant as he stepped into the schoolmaster’s kitchen.

Immediately Storm asked the pastor if he had been in time.

“Yes,” he said, “but on this occasion I was not needed.”

“Weren’t you?” said Mother Stina.

“No,” answered the pastor with a mysterious smile.  “He would have got on just as well without me.  Sometimes it is very hard to sit by a deathbed,” he added.

“It is indeed,” nodded the schoolmaster.

“Particularly when the one who is passing from among us happens to be the best man in your parish.”

“Just so.”

“But things can also be quite different from what one had imagined.”

For a moment the pastor sat quietly gazing into space; his eyes looked clearer than usual behind the spectacles.

“Have you, Strong, or you, Mother Stina, ever heard of the wonderful thing that once happened to Big Ingmar when he was a young man?” he asked.