"It looks like
things are as bad as ever with him and Fruen," said Nils.
We are getting in the potatoes now, and since we are thus far there is
less hurry and anxiety about the work. But there is still much to be done.
The ploughing is behindhand, and Lars Falkenberg and I are both at it,
field and meadow land.
Nils, queer creature that he was, began to find things intolerable at
Ovrebo again, and talked of throwing up his place and going off
altogether. But he couldn't bear the disgrace of leaving his service like
that. Nils had his own clear notions of honour, handed down through many
generations. A young man from a big farm could not behave like a lad from
a cottar's holding. And then he hadn't been here long enough yet; Ovrebo
had been sadly ill-managed before he came: it would take some years to
bring it round again. It was only this year, when he'd had more help with
the work, that he'd been able to do anything properly. But from now onward
he might begin to look for some result of his work; look at this year's
harvest, the fine heavy grain! The Captain, too, had looked at the crops
with wonder and thankfulness--the first time for many years.
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