'Stop! Is this your land, gospodarz?' the grey-haired man asked very
politely.

'Of course it's mine, who else should it belong to?'

Stasiek came running up from the field at that moment and looked at the
strangers with a mixture of distrust and admiration.

'And is that your field?' the bearded one repeated.

'Stop, Fritz! Is it your field, gospodarz?' the old man corrected him.

'It's not mine; it belongs to the manor.'

'And whose is the hill with the pine?'

'Stop, Fritz...'

'Oh well, if you are going to interrupt all the time, father....'

'Stop... is the hill yours, gospodarz?'

'It's mine; no one else's.'

'There you are, Fritz,' the old man said in German; 'that's the very
place for Wilhelm's windmill.'

'The reason why Wilhelm has not yet put up a windmill is not that there
are no hills, but that he is a lazy fellow.'