So! You have already estimated the amount of hay in my stack! said
Brandur. You have already divided this miserable haycock among
yourselves, divided it down to the very last straw. And you have
weighed it almost to a gram. Then why speak to me about it? Why not
take it just as it is and scatter it to the four winds? Why not?--
The voice of the old man shook with anger.

No, said Jon. We will not do that. We want to ask your permission
first. We had no intention of doing otherwise; we intended to ask
you for the hay. And we did not mean to vex you, but rather to
honour you in this manner. Is it not an honour to be asked to save a
whole district from ruin?

Oh, so all this is being done to honour me! said the old man,
roaring with laughter. Perhaps you believe me to be in my second
childhood. Not at all! Old Brandur can still see beyond the tip of
his nose.

The cold-heartedness shown by the old man's laughter at the distress
of his fellowmen roused Jon's ire. He could see nothing laughable
about the desperate situation in the district.

Are you then going to refuse to let us have the hay, refuse to sell
it at full price, with the Parish Council guaranteeing payment? he
asked in a tone that was angry, yet under perfect control?--Is that
your final answer?

Yes, responded Brandur. That is my final answer. I will not let the
tiny mouthful of hay I have here go while there is still life in my