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“And this year the price of wool is the same to all,” said Bjarni exultantly to the doctor. “If he doesn’t care to deal with me, he can go to Jon Borgari.”

The doctor laughed loudly, and Sera Daniel smiled approval. Jon Borgari was a man of sixty, who had set up on his own account in a small way, some five years back. On payment of fifty Kroner, he had acquired a licence to trade. His store was a mean little place, his whole stock-in-trade hardly amounted to more than one of Ørlygur’s ordinary purchases from Bjarni. He had found it impossible to do any considerable business, as the peasants were all in debt to Bjarni already, and could not transfer their custom elsewhere. Jon was considerably older than Bjarni, but the latter’s business was of longer standing. Bjarni had moved to Hofsfjordur twelve years before, and partly, at least, by his industry and smartness, he had compelled an old-established house in the place, a branch of a foreign firm, to close down. This he could never have done had it not been for the patronage of Ørlygur à Borg.