Inside were his hand-tied flies, three silver spoons, a spool of green line and his stainless steel pocketknife with his initials engraved on the bolster.

Sophie sat down next to me on the bench and pulled her coat tight around her knees.

“He loved to sit out here,” she said.

“He brought your brothers out here every Saturday morning before the sun came up,” I said.

“I remember sitting right on this board waiting for the bobber to go under,” she said.

“He never got mad when we tangled the lines.”

“He had a kind heart,” I said.