He
was a tall, handsome lad, not yet twenty years old, powerful in build,
but with something in his face that did not indicate innocence and
moderation, and that by next year could make him look ten years older.
"Listen, Uli," the master began, "things can't go on this way; you're
getting too wild to suit me. You go on night revels and sprees too
often. I won't trust my horses and cows to a man whose head is full of
brandy or wine, and I can't send him into the stable with a lantern,
especially when he smokes as you do. I've seen too many houses burned up
by such carelessness. I don't know what you're thinking of and what you
think is going to come of all this."
He hadn't burned up anything yet, Uli answered; he had always done his
work, no one had needed to do it for him, and nobody had paid for what
he drank; it was nobody's business what he spent on drink, it was his
own money.
"But it's my servant," answered the master, "that's drinking up his
money. When you carry on it comes back on me, and the people say that
you're the Bottom-Farmer's man and that they can't imagine what he's
thinking of to let you carry on so and to have such a servant as you.
You haven't burned up any house yet, but think, Uli, wouldn't once be
too much, and would you ever have a quiet moment again if you thought
you had burned up my house, and if we and the children couldn't get out
and were burned to death? And how about your work? I'd rather have you
lie abed all day long.
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