For it is only those who go bent under the eternal labour with
the soil, who can hold this land in good repute and honour--from one
time to another.'"
THE HOMESPUN CLOTH
_Saturday, April twenty-third_.
The boy rode forward--way up in the air. He had the great Oestergoetland
plain under him, and sat and counted the many white churches which
towered above the small leafy groves around them. It wasn't long before
he had counted fifty. After that he became confused and couldn't keep
track of the counting.
Nearly all the farms were built up with large, whitewashed two-story
houses, which looked so imposing that the boy couldn't help admiring
them. "There can't be any peasants in this land," he said to himself,
"since I do not see any peasant farms."
Immediately all the wild geese shrieked: "Here the peasants live like
gentlemen. Here the peasants live like gentlemen."
On the plains the ice and snow had disappeared, and the spring work had
begun. "What kind of long crabs are those that creep over the fields?"
asked the boy after a bit. "Ploughs and oxen. Ploughs and oxen,"
answered the wild geese.
The oxen moved so slowly down on the fields, that one could scarcely
perceive they were in motion, and the geese shouted to them: "You won't
get there before next year. You won't get there before next year.
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