it was a fine and fruitful year.

rain and sunshine came turn and turn about, in just the way that was best for the corn. as soon as the farmer thought that things were getting rather dry, he could be quite sure that it would rain next day. and, if he considered that he had had rain enough, then the clouds parted at once, just as though it were the farmer that was in command.

the farmer, therefore, was in a good humour and did not complain as he usually did. cheerful and rejoicing he walked over the land with his two boys:

"it will be a splendid harvest this year," he said. "i shall get my barns full and make lots of money. then jens and ole shall have a new pair of trousers apiece and i will take them with me to market."

"if you don't cut me soon, farmer, i shall be lying down flat," said the rye and bowed her heavy ears right down to the ground.

now the farmer could not hear this, but was quite able to see what the rye was thinking of; and so he went home to fetch his sickle.

"it's a good thing to be in the service of men," said the rye. "i can be sure now that all my grains will be well taken care of. most of them will go to the mill and that, certainly, is not very pleasant. but afterwards they will turn into beautiful new bread; and one must suffer something for honour's sake. what remains the farmer will keep and sow next year on his land."