“There's two of us and a lad,” says Nils, “for the season's work this spring. 'Tis none so much as leaves any to spare.”
But the Captain must have had some inkling as to the two brown horses Nils had been in such a hurry to get in; he goes round patting the animals in turn, to see which of them are warm. Then he comes back to us, wiping his fingers with his handkerchief.
“Do you go ploughing with other people's horses, Nils?”
Pause.
“I'll not have it here; you understand?”
“H'm! No,” says Nils submissively. Then suddenly he flares up: “We've more need of horses this spring than any season ever at Øvrebø: we're taking up more ground than ever before. And here were these strange cattle standing here day after day eating and eating, and doing never so much as the worth of the water they drank. So I took them out for a bit of a spell now and then, just enough to keep them in trim.”
“I'll have no more of it. You hear what I say?” repeated the Captain shortly.
Pause.
“Didn't you say one of the Captain's plough horses was ailing yesterday?” I put in.
Nils was quick to seize his chance.