The farmer, therefore, was in a good humour and did not complain, as otherwise he always did. Glad and rejoicing, he walked over the land with his two boys.
“It will be a splendid harvest this year,” he said. “I shall get my barns full and make lots of money. Then Jens and Ole shall have a new pair of trousers apiece and I will take them with me to market.”
“If you don’t cut me soon, farmer, I shall be lying down flat,” said the rye and bowed her heavy ears right down to the ground.
Now the farmer could not hear this, but was quite able to see what the rye was thinking of; and so he went home to fetch his sickle.
“It’s a good thing to be in the service of men,” said the rye. “I can be sure now that all my grains will be well taken care of. Most of them will go to the mill and that, certainly, is not very pleasant. But afterwards they will turn into beautiful fresh bread; and one must suffer something for honour’s sake. What remains the farmer will keep and sow next year on his land.”
2
Along the hedge and beside the ditch stood the weeds. Thistle and burdock, poppy and bell-flower and dandelion grew in thick clusters and all had their heads full of seed. For them too it had been a fruitful year, for the sun shines and the rain falls on the poor weeds just as much as on the rich corn.
“There’s no one to cut us and cart us to the barn,” said the dandelion and shook her head, but very carefully, lest the seed should fall out too soon. “What is to become of our children?”
“It gives me a headache to think of it,” said the poppy. “Here I stand, with many hundreds of seeds in my head, and I have no idea where to dispose of them.”
“Let’s ask the rye’s advice,” said the burdock.