“He might have stood forth an upright man and a wealthy before the Lamb and before the Throne,” said Oline, “if they hadn’t robbed him.”

Isak was standing ready to go out to his fields, and Oline said:  “Pity you’ve got to go now, Isak; then I shan’t see the new machine, after all.  You’ve got a new machine, they say?”

“Ay.”

“Ay, there’s talk of it about, and how it cuts quicker than a hundred scythes.  And what haven’t you got, Isak, with all your means and riches!  Priest, our way, he’s got a new plough with two handles; but what’s he, compared with you, and I’d tell him so to his face.”

“Sivert here’ll show you the machine; he’s better at working her than his father,” said Isak, and went out.

Isak went out.  There is an auction to be held at Breidablik that noon, and he is going; there’s but just time to get there now.  Not that Isak any longer thinks of buying the place, but the auction—­it is the first auction held there in the wilds, and it would be strange not to go.

He gets down as far as Maaneland and sees Barbro, and would pass by with only a greeting, but Barbro calls to him and asks if he is going down.  “Ay,” said Isak, making to go on again.  It is her home that is being sold, and that is why he answers shortly.

“You going to the sale?” she asks.

“To the sale?  Well, I was only going down a bit.  What you’ve done with Axel?”

“Axel?  Nay, I don’t know.  He’s gone down to sale.  Doubt he’ll be seeing his chance to pick up something for nothing, like the rest.”

Heavy to look at was Barbro now—­ay, and sharp and bitter-tongued!

The auction has begun; Isak hears the Lensmand calling out, and sees a crowd of people.  Coming nearer, he does not know them all; there are some from other villages, but Brede is fussing about, in his best finery, and chattering in his old way. “Goddag, Isak.  So you’re doing me the honour to come and see my auction sale.  Thanks, thanks.  Ay, we’ve been neighbours and friends these many years now, and never an ill word between us.”  Brede grows pathetic.  “Ay, ’tis strange to think of leaving a place where you’ve lived and toiled and grown fond of.  But what’s a man to do when it’s fated so to be?”

“Maybe ’twill be better for you after,” says Isak comfortingly.

“Why,” says Brede, grasping at it himself, “to tell the truth, I think it will.  I’m not regretting it, not a bit.  I won’t say I’ve made a fortune on the place here, but that’s to come, maybe; and the young ones getting older and leaving the nest—­ay, ’tis true the wife’s got another on the way; but for all that....”  And suddenly Brede tells his news straight out:  “I’ve given up the telegraph business.”

“What?” asks Isak.

“I’ve given up that telegraph.”

“Given up the telegraph?”