"Well, what shall we do?" asked the day-laborer Näsel. "Lord knows," replied Pegel, "nobody has told us." "Flegel!" cried Fritz again, "we are going to bring in the rye; the wagons must be greased." "For all me," called Flegel from his shop, "the tar-barrel stands there." "Herr von Rambow," said Fritz, "where is Habermann? shall I not call the inspector?" "No," said Axel slowly, turning to go away. "Well," said Fritz, who was growing distressed, "we cannot do anything about it this morning." "It isn't necessary, we can begin this afternoon." "But what shall the day-laborers be doing meanwhile?" "Good gracious, the day-laborers!" said Axel, "always the day-laborers! The men can employ themselves usefully here, about the yard. Do you hear?" and he turned round, "you can help grease the wagons." Meanwhile the old inspector sat at his desk, trying to write something, something difficult, which clutched at his inmost heart, he was going to separate himself from his master, to break down the bridge, which, between the late Kammerrath and himself, had united heart to heart; he would give notice to quit. He heard,--though not distinctly,--the stupid commotion outside, once he sprang to the window, as if he would give an intelligent order; no; that was all over, he had nothing more to do with it! He tore up the letter which he had written, and began another, but that also did not suit him, he pushed aside his writing materials, and closed his desk. But what now? What should he begin? He had nothing to do, he was superseded; he threw himself into the sofa-corner, and thought and thought. When the afternoon came, by the help of the old wheelwright and a couple of intelligent old laborers, the wagons and the barns were so far ready that the harvesting could begin; and it began accordingly. Axel was on horseback, commanding the whole; Fritz, by his master's order, must also be on horseback; because his old, deaf granny was lame, he rode the old thorough-bred Wallach, which was also a springer; he himself was a sort of adjutant. Now they could begin. Six spans of horses were fastened to six harvest wagons, and driven in a row, up to the yard,--order is the principal thing,--on one side stood the pitchers and stackers for the barns, on the other the pitchers, loaders and rakers for the field, and, on a given sign, the stackers marched off to the barns, and the field people climbed into the wagons; Axel and Fritz rode on, the wagons followed, and never in the world had there been such order, in the Pumpelhagen farm-yard, as on this fine afternoon; and we must have order. The old wheelwright, Fritz Flegel, stood in his workshop, and looked at the procession: "What is all that for?" said he, scratching his head, for he had no appreciation of this beautiful order. "Well, it is none of my concern," he said and went back to his work, "but where is our old Herr Inspector?"