"Thinks
himself mighty fine, doesn't he? 'Utter'" he says--and goes white about
it. "I've been more years than you at Ovrebo, and asked in to sing up at
the house of an evening more than once, let me tell you. But things have
changed since then, and what have we got instead? You remember," he said,
turning to me, "what it was like in the old days. It was Lars here and
Lars there, and I never heard but the work got done all right. And after
me it was Albert, that was here for eighteen months. But then you, Nils,
came along, and now it's toil and moil and ploughing and carting manure
day and night, till a man's worn to a thread with it all."
Nils and I could not help laughing at this. And Lars was in no way
offended; he seemed quite pleased at having said something funny, and,
forgetting his ill-will, joined in the laugh himself.
"Yes, I say it straight out," said he. "And if it wasn't for you being a
friendly sort between whiles--no, friendly I won't say, but someways
decent and to get on with after a fashion .
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