Mark and Luke trotted along, the familiar activity easing the tension between them. It was almost noon when they came to one of their favorite fishing spots, a quiet stream with a deep clear pool where the bank had fallen away. A couple of weeping willows shaded the water and there was a lazy hum of crickets.

Luke swung down from his horse and drank from his canteen, then reached in his saddlebag and got the laudanum. He took a quick swallow.

"Isn't it any better?" asked Mark.

"A little." Luke felt his throat. "It just hurts to swallow anything."

"Doc told me you'd feel that way for a while. I bought some soft things to eat while you were sleeping yesterday." The boy got off his horse and opened his own saddlebag. "I got white bread and new cheese." He looked nervously at his father.

"That sounds fine, son." Luke started to unsaddle his horse.

Mark hurried over. "Let me do that, Pa. Please?"

"All right." Luke stepped back and wandered over towards the water, stopping in surprise at the sight of a stranger with a fishing pole. It was an old man, with white hair and a deeply lined face and he had only one leg.

The man smiled at him. "I hope I'm not trespassing."

"It's government land." Luke sat next to him. "I don't believe I've seen you before, Mr…"

"Timothy. Just Timothy."

"I'm Lucas McCain." The big man gestured as Mark came over with food and their fishing poles. "This is my son, Mark."

"I'm pleased to meet you both." Timothy gazed at the water. "I used to come here with my brother but I haven't been back for a long time."

"Will you eat with us?" asked Luke.

"Only if you let me share my lunch with you." Timothy opened a sack and handed an apple to Mark and a hard-boiled egg to Luke. He looked concerned when the big man winced as he swallowed a small bite of the egg. "Are you unwell, Mr McCain?"

"Call me Lucas. No, I…" Luke hesitated, casting a glance at Mark. "I had an accident. My throat hurts but it's getting better."

"Have some bread, Pa." Mark cut a slice and folded it around a piece of soft cheese.

Luke took the bread and held it while he finished the egg. He tried a bite, then handed it back to Mark. "I'll eat it later."

Timothy's faded blue eyes studied the father and son and saw the pain in them both. "This is the first time I have returned to this place since I fell out with my brother." He took an envelope out of his coat pocket. "Perhaps you could read this to me, Mark. I don't have my glasses with me and I would like to hear the words again."

Mark took the envelope and pulled out an old letter. He looked questioningly at his father and Luke nodded. The boy began to read.

My dear brother, I wish to express how deeply I regret my part in our quarrel. It seems so foolish now to hold onto resentment when I miss you and would be so glad for a sight of your face. I know that you did not mean to shoot me and that my losing my leg pained you almost as much as it did me. I forgive you and I can only hope that you will forgive me so that we can meet again in friendship and once more share our days together as we used to. Your loving brother, Timothy

"That's a real nice letter, Mr Timothy." Mark restored it to its envelope and handed it back. "Why did your brother give it back to you?"

"He didn't." Timothy said wistfully, "I'm afraid he never saw the letter." The McCains were startled but he didn't seem to notice. "My brother and I were out hunting and we got separated. He shot me by accident. We were the best of friends and I knew he would never deliberately do anything to hurt me, but I was mad with rage at losing my leg. I couldn't forgive him, and I couldn't forgive myself for the things I said to him. We went our separate ways for many years and I started to miss him. I finally wrote him that letter, but the day I was going to mail it, I got word that he had died." He looked very seriously at Mark and Luke. "Never does the human soul appear so strong and noble as when it forgoes revenge and dares to forgive an injury."

"Edwin Chapin," said Luke softly. Mark looked questioningly from one man to the other and his father smiled for the first time. "Mr Chapin was a minister, son. He talked a lot about forgiveness."

"Yes," said Timothy. "If only I had dared forgive my brother...and myself…" He sighed. "Now all I have left is regret."

Mark tugged at Luke's arm. "Pa, I want to go home."

The big man looked uncertain. "Timothy, I hate to appear unmannerly…"

"That's quite all right, Lucas." Timothy smiled warmly. "It's not uncommon to turn around and go back when you realize where you really want to be."

Mark quickly saddled the horses, then mounted up and brought Razor over. Luke swung himself up in the saddle. "It was a pleasure meeting you, Timothy. I hope we'll see you again."

"It's entirely possible, Lucas. Take good care of your father, Mark."

"I will, sir," said the boy fervently. He started away from the stream, followed by Luke, then suddenly pulled up. "Pa, I forgot the fishing poles!" He kicked his horse into a brisk trot back towards the stream and returned with the poles and a puzzled expression.

"What's wrong, son?"

"Nothing." Mark looked back over his shoulder. "Timothy was gone. I wouldn't have thought a one-legged man could move so fast."

Luke frowned. "Now that I think about it, he didn't even have a crutch." He peered toward the stream and murmured, "He leadeth me beside the still waters. He restoreth my soul."

"Psalm 23," said Mark, smiling brightly.

"That's right." Luke smiled back at his son and their eyes locked. No words were spoken, but each knew he was forgiven, and in turn forgave himself.

Edwin Hubbell Chapin (December 29, 1814 – 1880) was an American preacher and editor of the Christian Leader. He was also a poet, responsible for the poem Burial at Sea, which was the origin of the famous folk song, Bury Me Not on the Lone Prairie.