riving for the Lensmand or the
doctor, then to have to look after the telegraph first of all--no,
there's no sense nor meaning in it that way. Well enough for them
that's time to spare. But running over hill and dale after a telegraph
wire for next to nothing wages, 'tis no job that for Brede. And then,
besides, I've had words with the people from the telegraph office
about it--they've been making a fuss again."

The Lensmand keeps repeating the bids for the farm; they have got up
to the few hundred _Kroner_ the place is judged to be worth, and the
bidding goes slowly, now, with but five or ten _Kroner_ more each
time.

"Why, surely--'tis Axel there's bidding," cries Brede suddenly, and
hurries eagerly across. "What, you going to take over my place too?
Haven't you enough to look after?"

"I'm bidding for another man," says Axel evasively.

"Well, well, 'tis no harm to me, 'twasn't that I meant."

The Lensmand raises his hammer, a new bid is made, a whole hundred
_Kroner_ at once; no one bids higher, the Lensmand repeats the figure
again and again, waits for a moment with his hammer raised, and then
strikes.

Whose bid?

Axel Stroem--on behalf of another.

The Lensmand notes it down: Axel Stroem as agent.

"Who's that you buying for?" asks Brede. "Not that it's any business
of mine, of course, but...."

But now some men at the Lensmand's table are putting their heads
together; there is a representative from the Bank, the storekeeper has
sent his assistant; there is something the matter; the creditors
are not satisfied. Brede is called up, and Brede, careless and
light-hearted, only nods and is agreed--"but who'd ever have thought
it didn't come up to more?" says he. And suddenly he raises his voice
and declares to all present:

"Seeing as we've an auction holding anyhow, and I've troubled the
Lensmand all this way, I'm willing to sell what I've got here on the
place: the cart, live stock, a pitchfork, a grindstone. I've no use
for the things now; we'll sell the lot!"

Small bidding now. Brede's wife, careless and light-hearted as
himself, for all the fulness of her in front, has begun selling coffee
at a table. She finds it amusing to play at shop, and smiles; and when
Brede himself comes up for some coffee, she tells him jestingly that
he must pay for it like the rest. And Brede actually takes out his
lean purse and pays. "There's a wife for you," he says to the others.
"Thrifty, what?"

The cart is