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.
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