During the foregoing dialogue the vexed horse-dealer had quietly put his hand into his money-bag and to the twenty gold pieces had added, with an air of unconcern, six more.  The Justice appeared again at the door, and the other, without looking up, said, grumbling; “There are the twenty-six, since there is no other way out of it.”

The old peasant smiled ironically and said:  “I knew right well that you would buy the horse, Mr. Marx, for you are trying to find one for thirty pistoles for the cavalry lieutenant in Unna, and my little roan fills the bill as if she had been made to order.  I went into the house only to fetch the gold-scales, and could see in advance that you would have bethought yourself in the meantime.”

The old man, who one moment displayed something akin to hurry in his movements and the next the greatest deliberation, depending upon the business with which he happened to be occupied, sat down at the table, slowly and carefully wiped off his spectacles, fastened them on his nose, and began carefully to weigh the gold pieces.  Two or three of them he rejected as being too light.  The horse-dealer raised a loud objection to this, but the Justice, holding the scales in his hands, only listened in cold-blooded silence, until the other replaced them with pieces having full weight.  Finally, the business was completed; the seller deliberately wrapped the money in a piece of paper and went with the horse-dealer to the stable, in order to deliver the horse over to him.

The receiver did not wait for them to return.  “One can’t accomplish anything with a clod-hopper like that,” he said.  “I But in the end if you don’t come around and pay us up regularly, we will—­” He felt for the legal documents in his pocket, realized by their crackling that they were still there, and left the yard.

Out of the stable came the horse-dealer, the Justice, and a farm-hand who was leading behind him two horses, the horse-dealer’s own and the brown mare which he had just bought.  The Justice, giving the latter a farewell pat, said “It always grieves one to sell a creature which one has raised, but who can do otherwise?—­Now behave well, little brownie!” he added, giving the animal a hearty slap on her round, glossy haunches.  In the meantime the horse-dealer had mounted.  With his gaunt figure, his short riding-jacket under the broad-brimmed, varnished hat, his yellow breeches over his lean thighs, his high leather boots, his large, heavy spurs, and his whip, he looked like a highwayman.  He rode away cursing and swearing, without saying good-by, leading the brown mare by a halter.  He never once glanced back at the farm-house, but the mare several times bent her neck around and emitted a doleful neigh, as if complaining because her good days were now over.  The Justice remained standing with the laborer, his arms set akimbo, until the two horses had passed out of sight through the orchard.  Then the man said:  “The animal is grieving.”