_
[_BEIPST has lit his pipe with a fresh match. He limps to the gate,
sits down and begins sharpening his scythe anew. Again nothing is
heard for a time but the monotonous hammer blows and the groans of
the old man, which he interrupts by short oaths when his work will
not go to his liking. It has grown considerably lighter._
LOTH
[_Steps out of the house door, stands still, stretches himself, and
breathes deeply several times._] Ah! The morning air. [_Slowly he goes
toward the background until he reaches the gateway. To BEIPST._] Good
morning! Up so early?
BEIPST
[_Squinting at LOTH suspiciously. In a surly tone._] 'Mornin'. [_A brief
pause, whereupon BEIPST addresses his scythe which he pulls to and fro in
his indignation._] Crooked beast! Well, are ye goin' to? Eksch! Well,
well, I'll be ...
[_He continues to sharpen it._
LOTH
[_Has taken a seat between the handles of a cultivator._] I suppose
there's hay harvesting to-day?
BEIPST
[_Roughly._] Dam' fools go a-cuttin' hay this time o' year.
LOTH
Well, but you're sharpening a scythe?
BEIPST
[_To the scythe._] Eksch! You ol'...!
[_A brief pause._]
LOTH
Won't you tell me, though, why you are sharpening your scythe if it is
not time for the hay harvest?
BEIPST
Eh? Don't you need a scythe to cut fodder?
LOTH
So that's it.
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