church in a crowd, they look like grass from a distance, all red and
yellow, like flowers in a field. If some horrible cow came and lapped
them up with her tongue, wouldn't they be able to think?'

'People would scream, but the grass says nothing.'

'It does say something! A dry stick cracks when you tread on it, and a
fresh branch cries and clings to the tree when you tear it off, and the
grass squeaks and holds on with its feet,...and...'

'Oh! you are always saying queer things,' interrupted his father; 'and
you, Jendrek, are you glad that we are going to the manor-house?'

'Is it I who is going or you?' said Jendrek, shrugging his shoulders.
'I shouldn't go.'

'Well, what would you do?'

'I should take the hay and stack it in the yard; then let them come!'

'You would dare to cut the squire's hay?'

'How is it his? Has he sown the grass? or is the field near his house?'

'Don't you see, silly, that the meadow is his just as well as his other
fields?'

'They are his, so long as no one takes them. Our land and our house
were his once, now they are yours. Why should he be better off than we
are? He does nothing, yet he has enough land for a hundred peasants.'