The old man, holding himself erect, went in front, moving with long regular strides, his feet turned out, and swinging his scythe as precisely and evenly, and apparently as effortlessly, as a man swings his arms in walking. As if it were child's play, he laid the grass in a high, level ridge. It seemed as if the sharp blade swished of its own accord through the juicy grass …

The peasants began preparing for dinner. Some had a wash, the young lads bathed in the stream, others arranged places for their after-dinner rest, untied their bundles of bread and unstoppered their pitchers of rye-beer.

The old man crumbled some bread in a cup, pounded it with the handle of a spoon, poured water on it from a dipper, and having sprinkled it with salt, turned to the east to say his prayer … [When he had finished], the old chap got up again, said his prayer, and lay down under a bush, putting some grass under his head for a pillow.