When the master was almost through in the stable Uli came along, but in silence; they spoke no word to each other.  When the voice from the kitchen door called them to breakfast the master went at once to the well-trough and washed his hands, but Uli stood long undecided.  Perhaps he would not have come to breakfast at all if the mistress herself had not called him again.  He was ashamed to show his face, which was black and blue and bloody.  He did not know that it is better to be ashamed of a thing before it is done, than afterward.  But this he was to learn.

At the table no remark was passed, no question which might have concerned him; and the two maids did not even venture to show mocking faces, for the master and mistress wore serious ones.  But when they had eaten and the maids were carrying out the dishes, and Uli, who had finished last, raised his elbows from the table and put his cap on his head again, showing that he had prayed and was going out, the master said, “A word with you,” went into the sitting-room and shut the door behind them.  The master sat down at the further end near the little table; Uli stood still by the door and assumed a sheepish expression which could as easily be transformed into defiance as into penitence.  He was a tall, handsome lad, not yet twenty years old, powerful in build, but with something in his face that did not indicate innocence and moderation, and that by next year could make him look ten years older.

“Listen, Uli,” the master began, “things can’t go on this way; you’re getting too wild to suit me.  You go on night revels and sprees too often.  I won’t trust my horses and cows to a man whose head is full of brandy or wine, and I can’t send him into the stable with a lantern, especially when he smokes as you do.  I’ve seen too many houses burned up by such carelessness.  I don’t know what you’re thinking of and what you think is going to come of all this.”

He hadn’t burned up anything yet, Uli answered; he had always done his work, no one had needed to do it for him, and nobody had paid for what he drank; it was nobody’s business what he spent on drink, it was his own money.

“But it’s my servant,” answered the master, “that’s drinking up his money.  When you carry on it comes back on me, and the people say that you’re the Bottom-Farmer’s man and that they can’t imagine what he’s thinking of to let you carry on so and to have such a servant as you.  You haven’t burned up any house yet, but think, Uli, wouldn’t once be too much, and would you ever have a quiet moment again if you thought you had burned up my house, and if we and the children couldn’t get out and were burned to death?  And how about your work?  I’d rather have you lie abed all day long.  Why, you fall asleep under the cows you’re milking, and you don’t see, hear, or smell anything, and stumble around the house as if your liver was out of whack.  It’s terrible to watch you.”

He wouldn’t take this, said Uli, and if his work wasn’t good enough for him he’d leave.  But it was always so nowadays, you couldn’t satisfy a master any more, even if working all the time; one was worse than the other.  As for pay, they wanted to give less and less, and the food got worse every day.  After awhile one would have to gather fleas, beetles, and grasshoppers if one wanted to have meat and fat with his vegetables.