'And you sleep twice in twenty-four hours unless your wife drives you to work, but how much rest do you give me? Once in ten years, and then your cattle trample upon me. So I am to be content with being harrowed? Just try giving no hay or litter to your cows, only scratch them and see whether they will give you milk. They will get ill, the slaughterer will have to be sent for, and even the Jew will give you nothing for their hides.' 'Oh dear, oh dear!' sighed the peasant, acknowledging that the earth was right. But no one pitied or comforted him--on the contrary! The west wind rose, and twining itself among the dry stalks on the field-paths, whistled: 'Look sharp, you'll catch it! I will bring such a deluge of rain that the remainder of the mould will be spurted on to the highroad or into the manor-fields. And though you should harrow with your own teeth, you shall get less and less comfort every year! I will make everything sterile!' The wind was not threatening in vain. In Slimak's father's time ten korzy of sheaves an acre had been harvested here. Now he had to be thankful for seven, and what was going to happen in the future? 'That's a peasant's lot,' murmured Slimak, 'work, work, work, and from one difficulty you get into another. If only it could be otherwise, if only I could manage to have another cow and perhaps get that little meadow....' His whip was pointed at the green field by the Bialka. But the sparrows only twittered 'You fool!' and the earth groaned: 'You are starving me!' He stopped the horses and looked around him to divert his thoughts. Jendrek was digging between the cottage and the highroad, throwing stones at the birds now and then or singing out of tune: 'God grant you, God grant you That I may not find you. For else, my fair maid, You should open your gate.' And Magda answered from within: 'Although I am poor And my mother was poor, I'll not at the gate Kiss you early or late.' Slimak turned towards the river where his wife could be plainly seen in her white chemise and red skirt, bending over the water and beating the linen with a stick until the valley rang. Stasiek had already strayed farther towards the ravines. Sometimes he knelt down on the bank and gazed into the river, supported on his elbows. Slimak smiled. 'Peering again! What does he see down there?' he whispered. Stasiek was his favourite, and struck him as an unusual child, who could see things that others did not see. While Slimak cracked his whip and the horses went on, his thoughts were travelling in the direction of the desired field.