Finally, with a heavy sigh, Uli’s mistress began the conversation, saying that she’d have to come out with the reason for her journey; she hadn’t known any better place to go for advice and help than just here.  Johannes had so often helped ’em that she thought he wouldn’t leave ’em in the lurch this time either.  Everything had gone so well with ’em that it had been a real pleasure.  To be sure, Uli had got Elsie into his head for awhile; but the girl herself had been to blame for that, and she thought Uli had seen in the end that she was no suitable match for him.  Then misfortune had taken them to the Gurnigel, and there Elsie had picked up a husband, and since then everything had been ruined.  Her Johannes was carrying on; her son-in-law wasn’t as he should be, but poked his nose into everything and thought she ought not to spend anything more in her housekeeping.  Elsie was always quarreling with Freneli, and Freneli was going to leave on account of it; Uli too; everything came on her, and she didn’t know for the life of her what to do; many a night she hadn’t closed an eye and just cried and cried because such misfortune had come to her in her old age.  Then an idea had come to her; surely no sensible person could make any objection if they should lease out their farm, and that would take the load off her.  And then she had thought that they couldn’t possibly get a better tenant than Uli, who’d look after everything for them and was good and honest; and Uli could make his fortune there, too, for he shouldn’t be treated badly, she would see to that; it would be his profit as well as theirs.

“That’s all well and good,” said Johannes; “but don’t be angry, cousin, only I must ask whether you think that every one will consent?  There’s a lot of folks have to have their say in this, if it’s to be done.  What will your folks say?  Joggeli’s awfully queer sometimes.  And your children will put in their oar too and want to make the farming as profitable as possible.  Uli has a risky undertaking.  A single bad year, with sickness of the stock or the like, can ruin him.  On such a farm a thousand francs more or less in earnings can scarcely be seen, whereas in a single year four or five thousand can be lost.”

“Cousin Johannes,” said she, “you mustn’t think we’re such heartless creatures as to ruin our tenant on account of a single bad year.  If we had the farm, shouldn’t we have the bad year ourselves, and why should the tenant have to stand the loss if it’s too dry or too wet?  It’s our farm all the time, and how can he avoid it?  It’s often seemed cruel to me when the leaseholder always has to pay the same rent, whether or no.  No, cousin, Joggeli’s queer, but he’s not the worst, and, if everything else failed, it isn’t as if I didn’t have something of my own to help out with.”