In the evening, as they sat at table, the master came and said he
thought it would be convenient to cut wood now; the horses weren't
needed, the weather was fine, and it seemed to him that the threshing
and the wood-cutting could go on together if properly arranged. The
carter said the horses' hoofs were not sharpened; and another said that
they couldn't go on threshing by sixes, but at most by fours, and would
never get done. Uli said nothing.
Finally, when Joggeli had no further answers to give, and was out-talked
by the servants, he said to Uli, "Well, what do you think?"
"If the master orders it's got to be done," answered Uli. "Hans, the
carter, and I will bring the wood in, and if the milker helps in the
threshing and the others help him with fodder and manure, the threshing
won't suffer." "All right, do it so," said Joggeli, and went out.
Now the storm broke over Uli's head, first in single peals, then in
whole batteries of thunder. The carter swore he wouldn't go into the
woods; the milker swore he wouldn't touch a flail; the others swore they
wouldn't thresh by fours. They wouldn't be howled at; annoyed; they
weren't dogs; they knew what was customary, etc. But they knew where all
this came from, and he had better look out for himself if he was going
to have the evening bells ring at six here (in the winter three o'clock
is the hour, six in summer).
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