He put on his thick hobnailed boots and a stiff sukmana,[1] fastened a
hard strap round his waist, and put on his high sheepskin cap. The
heaviness in his limbs increased, and it came into his mind that it
would be more suitable to be buried in a bundle of straw after a huge
bowl of peeled barley-soup and another of cheese dumplings, than to go
to work. But he put this thought aside, and went out slowly into the
yard. In his snuff-coloured sukmana and black cap he looked like the
stem of a pine, burnt at the top.

[Footnote 1: _Sukmana_, a long linen coat, often elaborately
embroidered.]

The barn door was open, and by sheer perversity some bundles of straw
were peeping out, luring Slimak to a doze. But he turned away his head
and looked at one of the hills where he had sown oats that morning. He
fancied the yellow grain in the furrows was looking frightened, as if
trying in vain to hide from the sparrows that were picking it up.

'You will eat me up altogether,' Slimak muttered. With heavy steps he
approached the shed, took out the two harrows, and led the chestnuts
out of the stable; one was yawning and the other moved his lips,
looking at Slimak and blinking his eyes, as if he thought: 'Would you
not prefer to doze and not to drag us up the hill? Didn't we do enough
work for you yesterday?' Slimak nodded, as if in answer, and drove off.

Seen from below, the thick-set man and the horses with heads hanging
down, seemed to harrow the blue sky, moving a few hundred paces
backward and forward. As often as they reached the edge of the sown
field, a flight of sparrows rose up, twittering angrily, and flew over