let himself go altogether, and chartered a steamer of his own and held wild orgies on the way—­orgies were not in his line.  A strange fellow, was Eleseus; he no longer cared about girls, had given up such things altogether, lost all interest in them.  No, but after all, he was the Margrave’s son, and travelled first class and bought up loads of goods.  And each time he came back a little finer than before, a greater man; the last time, he even wore galoshes to keep his feet dry.  “What’s that—­you taken to wearing two pairs of shoes?” they said.

“I’ve been suffering from chilblains lately,” says Eleseus.

And every one sympathized with Eleseus and his chilblains.

Glorious days—­a grand life, with no end of leisure.  No, he was not going to sell Storborg.  What, go back to a little town and stand behind the counter in a little shop, and no chief clerk of his own at all?  Moreover, he had made up his mind now to develop the business on a grand scale.  The Swedes had come back again and would flood the place with money; he would be a fool to sell out now.  Aronsen was forced to go back each time with a flat refusal, more and more disgusted at his own lack of foresight in ever having given up the place.

Oh, but Aronsen might have saved himself a deal of self-reproach, and likewise Eleseus with his plans and intentions, that he might have kept in moderation.  And more than all, the village would have done well to be less confident, instead of going about smiling and rubbing its hands like angels sure of being blessed—­no call for them to do so if they had but known.  For now came disappointment, and no little one at that.  Who would ever have thought it; work at the mine commenced again, true enough—­but at the other end of the fjeld, eight miles away, on the southern boundary of Geissler’s holding, far off in another district altogether, a district with which they were in no way concerned.  And from there the work was to make its way gradually northward to the original mine, Isak’s mine, to be a blessing to folk in the wilds and in the village.  At best, it would take years, any number of years, a generation.

The news came like a dynamite charge of the heaviest sort, with shock and stopping of ears.  The village folk were overcome with grief.  Some blamed Geissler; ’twas Geissler, that devil of a man, who had tricked them once more.  Others huddled together at a meeting and sent out a new deputation of trusty men, this time to the mining company, to the engineer.  But nothing came of it; the engineer explained that he was obliged to start work from the south because that was nearest the sea, and saved the need of an aerial railway, reduced the transport almost to nil.  No, the work must begin that way; no more to be said.