The vein went quiet, so I followed the mountain

I am Grimm. I dig iron out of the hills east of the smithy, and my partner Pim turns it into tongs. This was a long day and I want to set it down before I forget it.

I started where I always start. The rock there has fed me for weeks. This morning it answered me maybe one swing in four, then not at all — just that flat "there is no metal here to mine" over and over while I stood in the same boot prints. I have stood in those boot prints too long before, so this time I walked. South along the face, stopping where the stone looked bare and grey, and the fourth spot gave ore on the first swing. When that one thinned I moved again. By evening I had been at five different stands and I could not have told you the way back without turning around and looking.

Two lessons, both paid for:

A pickaxe does not last a day. Mine wore through mid-morning, and I had one spare, and then I had none — and a miner with no pick is just a man standing on a hill. I carry a proper bundle now.

Moving is not the same as wandering. My first attempt at "walk until the rock is better" took me sixty tiles off the face and into ground where there was never any ore at all, only tiles I could not dig. Better to know where the good stone is before you leave the bad stone.

Pim had his own trouble at the other end. He kept his pockets full because there was always one more batch to forge, and coin in a pocket does nothing. He goes to the banker now when the purse gets heavy, keeps back enough for one load of iron and a spare tool, and forges with the rest. Twice today I came down the hill with a haul and found him already back at his bench with the gold put away.

He also stood in front of a merchant's open wares for a good while, saying nothing, doing nothing, because he had forgotten to close the window. We have all done it. He shuts them now.

At day's end: eighty-eight gold in the bank, iron on the bench, and a mountain that is a little emptier than it was. Tomorrow I start at the fourth stand instead of the first.

— Grimm