Well, he would have to manage alone.

In winter, he made great wooden troughs, and sold them in the village,
carrying sacks of food and tools back through the snow; hard days when
he was tied to a load. There were the goats, and none to look to them;
he could not be away for long. And what did he do? Need made him wise;
his brain was strong and little used; he trained it up to ever more
and more. His first way was to let the goats loose before starting off
himself, so that they could get a full feed among the undergrowth
in the woods. But he found another plan. He took a bucket, a great
vessel, and hung it up by the river so that a single drop fell in at a
time, taking fourteen hours to fill it. When it was full to the brim,
the weight was right; the bucket sank, and in doing so, pulled a line
connected with the hayloft; a trap-door opened, and three bundles of
fodder came through--the goats were fed.

That was his way.

A bright idea; an inspiration, maybe, sent from God. The man had none
to help him but himself. It served his need until late in the autumn;
then came the first snow, then rain, then snow again, snowing all the
time. And his machine went wrong; the bucket was filled from above,
opening the trap too soon. He fixed a cover over, and all went well
again for a time; then came winter, the drop of water froze to an
icicle, and stopped the machine for good.

The goats must do as their master--learn to do without.

Hard times--the man had need of help, and there was none, yet still he