It was a mild night, half spring, half summer. Few stars twinkled in the
blue ocean above; a ringing shout, a distant wagon broke in at times
upon the stillness of the night.
"Have you made up your mind now, Uli?" asked the master, when they were
sitting on the bench before the stable.
Uli answered that he was still rather undecided, but his tone was no
longer angry. He wouldn't take everything, but he shouldn't mind
staying.
He had already adopted the generally accepted maxim, never to show
eagerness lest the opponent draw an advantage from it. Hence the
remarkable calm and cold-bloodedness in farmers, which diplomats should
admire. But in its full extent and application it is a vicious policy,
which causes unspeakable evil, estranges countless people, makes them
appear enemies to one another, generates coldness where generous zeal
should be kindled, and results in an indifference which causes an
involuntary goose-flesh to scamper up the back of every friend of
goodness.
The master did not take the reply amiss, but said that he felt the same
way. He had nothing against Uli; but things would have to change. He
wanted to know who was in the wrong, and whether he couldn't say a word
in his own house any more without getting cross words all the week and
seeing a face sour enough to poison all America.
He couldn't help it, said Uli. To look cross was his style of
friendliness, and if his face hadn't looked the same as usual it wasn't
on his master's account, for he had no special complaint against him or
anybody.
Pages:
218
219
220
221
222
223
224
225
226
227
228
229
230
231
232
233
234
235
236
237
238
239
240
241
242