Now the storm broke over Uli’s head, first in single peals, then in whole batteries of thunder.  The carter swore he wouldn’t go into the woods; the milker swore he wouldn’t touch a flail; the others swore they wouldn’t thresh by fours.  They wouldn’t be howled at; annoyed; they weren’t dogs; they knew what was customary, etc.  But they knew where all this came from, and he had better look out for himself if he was going to have the evening bells ring at six here (in the winter three o’clock is the hour, six in summer).  Many a fellow had come along like a district governor, and then had had to make tracks like a beaten hound.  It was a bad sort of fellow who got his fellow-servants into trouble in order to put the master’s eyes out.  But they would soon give such a fellow enough of it.  Uli said little in reply, only that the master’s orders had to be carried out.  The master had ordered, not he, and if none of them got off worse than he they ought to thank God for it.  He wasn’t going to torment anybody, but he wouldn’t be tormented either; he had no cause to fear any of them.  Then he told the mistress to be kind enough to put up lunch for three, for they would scarcely come back from the woods to dinner.

The next morning they went out into the woods.  Much as the carter growled and cursed, he had to go along.  The milker would not thresh and the master did not appear.  Then the mistress plucked up courage and went out and said that she thought he needn’t be too high and mighty to thresh; better folks than he had threshed before now.  They couldn’t afford to pay a milker who wanted to dry his teeth in the sun all the morning.  So the wood was brought in, they scarcely knew how; and in February weather and roads were so bad that they would have had a hard time with the wood.

Hard as Uli had worked outside (and he had a bad time of it, for he always took the heavy end, wishing to be master not only in giving orders, but in working too), still in the evening he always helped to prepare whatever vegetables the mistress ordered, no matter what they were.  He never shirked and he prevented the others from doing so; the more they helped each other, he said, the sooner they would get done, and if they wanted food it was only reasonable that they should help get it ready.  He himself always helped wherever he could:  when one of the maids had washed a basket of potatoes and did not like to carry it alone because she would get all wet, he would help her carry it himself, or would order the boy (half child, half servant) to do so; and when the latter at first refused, or failed to come at his word, he punished him until the boy learned to obey.  It was not right, he said, for one servant to refuse to help another take care of his clothes, or for servants to plague each other; that was just wantonly making service worse than it needed to be.  But it was long before they grasped this, for a peculiar atmosphere existed there.  The men teased the maids wherever they could; nowhere was there any mutual assistance.  When one of the men was asked to lend a hand he scoffed and cursed and would not budge; even the mistress had to endure this, and when she complained to Joggeli he simply said she was always complaining.  He didn’t hire servants to help the women-folk; they had something else to do beside hauling flowers around.