I have work-people on the slope; they are gathering leaves, but they do not work except when I am watching them." He totters off after his large cap and staff, and says, meanwhile,-- "They do not seem to like to work for me; I cannot understand it." When they were once out and turning the corner of the house, he paused.
"Just look here.

No order: the wood flung about, the axe not even stuck in the block." He stooped with difficulty, picked up the axe, and drove it in fast.
"Here you see a skin that has fallen down; but has any one hung it up again ?" He did it himself.
"And the store-house; do you think the ladder is carried away ?" He set it aside.

He paused, and looking at the school-master, said,-- "This is the way it is every single day." As they proceeded upward they heard a merry song from the slopes.
"Why, they are singing over their work," said the school-master.
"That is little Knut Ostistuen who is singing; he is helping his father gather leaves.

Over yonder _my_ people are working; you will not find them singing." "That is not one of the parish songs, is it ?" "No, it is not." "Oyvind Pladsen has been much in Ostistuen; perhaps that is one of the songs he has introduced into the parish, for there is always singing where he is." There was no reply to this.
The field they were crossing was not in good condition; it required attention.

The school-master commented on this, and then Ole stopped.
"It is not in my power to do more," said he, quite pathetically.
"Hired work-people without attention cost too much.