is kitchen to an undomestic but profitable purpose by supplying
drink to the miners at what seemed to the English and Welshmen
ridiculously low prices.

In that kitchen the new captain and his new methods were vehemently
discussed and handled roughly enough--in words. And hot words and the
thoughts they excite, and wild thoughts and the words they find vent in,
are at times the breeders of deeds that were better left undone.

To all financially interested in the mines the need for strictest
economy and fullest efficiency was patent enough. It was still a case of
faith and hope--a case of continual putting in of work and money, and,
so far, of getting little out--except the dross which intervened between
them and their highest hopes.

There was silver there without a doubt, and the many thin veins they
came across lured them on with constant hope of mighty pockets and
deposits of which these were but the flying indications.

And all putting in and getting nothing out results in stressful times,
in business ventures as in the case of individuals. The great shafts
sank deeper and deeper, the galleries branched out far under the sea,
and there was a constant call for more and more money, lest that already
sunk should be lost.

Mr. Hamon, disappointed in his view of raising money on the farm by
Tom's obstinacy, in the bitterness of his spirit and the urgent
necessities of the mines, conceived a new idea which, if he was able to
carry it out, would serve the double purpose of satisfying his own needs
at the recalcitrant Tom's expense.

"I must have more money for the mines," he said to his wife one day in
private. "I'm thinking of selling the farm."

"Selling the farm?" gasped Mrs. Hamon, doubtful of her own hearing. For
selling the farm is the very last resource of the utterly unfortunate.
"Aye, selling the farm. Why not? It'll all come back twenty times over
when we strike the pockets, and then we can live where we will, or we
can go across to Guernsey, or to England if you like."

But Mrs. Hamon was silent and full of thought. She had no desire for
wealth, and still less to live in Guernsey or in England, or anywhere in
the world but Sark.

He had been a good husband to her on the whole, until this silver craze
absorbed him. She had never found it necessary to counter his wishes
before. But this idea of selling the farm cut to the very roots of her
life.

For Nance's sake and Bernel's she must oppose it with al