His mother was all for buying the place; Sivert, too, said it would be best. They stuck to Eleseus both of them, and one day the three drove down to Storborg to see the wonder with their own eyes. But once there was a prospect of selling, Aronsen became a different man; he wasn't pressed to get rid of it, not at all. If he did go away, the place could stand as it was; 'twas a first-rate holding, a "cash down" place, there'd be no difficulty in selling it any time. "You'd not give my price," said Aronsen. They went over the house and stores, the warehouse and sheds, inspected the miserable remains of the stock, consisting of a few mouth-organs, watch-chains, boxes of coloured papers, lamps with hanging ornaments, all utterly unsaleable to sensible folks that lived on their land. There were a few cases of nails and some cotton print, and that was all. Eleseus was constrained to show off a bit, and looked over things with a knowing air. "I've no use for that sort of truck," said he. "Why, then, you've no call to buy it," said Aronsen. "Anyhow, I'll offer you fifteen hundred _Kroner_ for the place as it stands, with goods, live stock, and the rest," said Eleseus. Oh, he was careless, enough; his offer was but a show, for something to say. And they drove back home. No, there was no deal; Eleseus had made a ridiculous offer, that Aronsen regarded as an insult. "I don't think much of you, young man," said Aronsen; ay, calling him young man, considering him but a slip of a lad that had grown conceited in the town, and thought to teach him, Aronsen, the value of goods. "I'll not be called 'young man' by you, if you please," said Eleseus, offended in his turn. They must be mortal enemies after that. But how could it be that Aronsen had all along been so independent and so sure of not being forced to sell? There was a reason for it: Aronsen had a little hope at the back of his mind, after all. A meeting had been held in the village to consider the position which had arisen owing to Geissler's refusal to sell his part of the mining tract. 'Twas not only the outlying settlers who stood to lose by this, it would be fatal to the whole district. Why could not folk go on living as well or as poorly now as before there had been any mine at all? Well, they could not, and that was all about it. They had grown accustomed to better food, finer bread, store-bought clothes and higher wages, general extravagance--ay, folk had learned to reckon with money more, that was the matter. And now the money was gone again, had slipped away like a shoal of herring out to sea--'twas dire distress for them all, and what was to be done?