Franz Vogt smiled. Yes, this must be a thorn in the flesh for the lord of the manor! The corn-patch was small; but it stretched out amid the turnip-fields like a long arm that could hold its own, and that would not brook encroachment. Rich fruitful soil it was, that scarcely needed the manure he gave it.
Pride awoke in the heart of the young peasant-farmer. Oh no, it was not so simple as the lord of the manor thought! It might be a good while yet before the big estate was "rounded off."
Franz Vogt opened the mouth of the sack and shook out a portion of the seed-corn. The two cows stood chewing the cud by the wayside. He turned to the field.
The sun shone gaily as it mounted upwards. The black earth lay ready and receptive; above the furrows hovered a light mist, and an invigorating aroma ascended from the soil, like incense offered by the maternal earth to the engendering sun to celebrate the new year of fruitfulness that was just beginning.
The untiring force of nature was in this fragrance, shedding courage and strength into the hearts of mankind with the full benediction of spring.
An overpowering sensation made the young peasant fall on his knees, and he touched the earth with reverent caressing hands as though it were something sacred.
He had found his home again.
A troop of hired labourers, strangers from Galicia, were approaching a field in the neighbouring property of the manor. They followed each other wearily like a band of slaves, unwilling and half asleep. Behind them came the inspector.
"Avanti, avanti!" he cried, supposing, apparently, that this was Polish.
And the strangers set to work. Their heads were bowed wearily, and their movements resembled the automatism of a machine.