The old man's eloquence continued to flow until they had returned to the garden. Our friend waited a long time, in the hope of seeing Hedwig, but in vain. Thus his first design was accomplished in spite of himself: he did not see Hedwig for a long, long time,--to wit, for full forty-eight hours.
Next day, as he strode alone through the fields, he saw Buchmaier driving a horse, which drew a sort of roller.
"Busy, squire?" asked the teacher: he had learned some of the customary phrases by this time.
"A little," answered Buchmaier, and drove his horse to the end of the field, where he halted.
"Is that the sorrel you were breaking in the day I came here?"
"Yes, that's him. I'm glad to see that you remember it: I thought you had nothing in your head but your books.
"You see, I've had a queer time with this here horse. My ploughman wanted to break him into double harness right-away, and I gave in to him; but it wouldn't do, nohow. These colts, the first time they get harness on 'em, work themselves to death, and pull, and pull, and don't do any good after all: if they pull hard and get their side of the swingle-tree forward, the other horse don't know what to make of it and just lumbers along anyhow. But if you have 'em in single harness you can make 'em steady and not worry themselves to death for nothing. When they can work each by himself, they soon learn to work in a team, and you can tell much better how strong you want the other horse to be."
The teacher derived a number of morals from this speech; but all he said aloud was, "It's just the same thing with men: they must learn to work alone first, and then they are able to help each other."
"That's what I never thought of; but I guess you're right."