'You see, my boy,' he continued, more kindly, 'we have bought the new cow from the Soltys and we shall want more hay, so I am going to ask the squire to let me rent the field.'
'I see….But, daddy, I am always wondering what the grass thinks when the cows chew it up.'
'What should it think? It doesn't think at all.'
'But, daddy, why shouldn't it think? When people are standing round the church in a crowd, they look like grass from a distance, all red and yellow, like flowers in a field. If some horrible cow came and lapped them up with her tongue, wouldn't they be able to think?'
'People would scream, but the grass says nothing.'
'It does say something! A dry stick cracks when you tread on it, and a fresh branch cries and clings to the tree when you tear it off, and the grass squeaks and holds on with its feet,…and…'
'Oh! you are always saying queer things,' interrupted his father; 'and you, Jendrek, are you glad that we are going to the manor-house?'
'Is it I who is going or you?' said Jendrek, shrugging his shoulders.
'I shouldn't go.'
'Well, what would you do?'
'I should take the hay and stack it in the yard; then let them come!'