The old man sighed, and said: “You go about the wide world, Iván, while I am lying on the oven all these years, so you think you see everything, and that I see nothing.⁠ ⁠… Ah, lad! It’s you that don’t see; malice blinds you. Others’ sins are before your eyes, but your own are behind your back. ‘He’s acted badly!’ What a thing to say! If he were the only one to act badly, how could strife exist? Is strife among men ever bred by one alone? Strife is always between two. His badness you see, but your own you don’t. If he were bad, but you were good, there would be no strife. Who pulled the hair out of his beard? Who spoilt his haystack? Who dragged him to the law court? Yet you put it all on him! You live a bad life yourself, that’s what is wrong! It’s not the way I used to live, lad, and it’s not the way I taught you. Is that the way his old father and I used to live? How did we live? Why, as neighbours should! If he happened to run out of flour, one of the women would come across: ‘Uncle Trol, we want some flour.’ ‘Go to the barn, dear,’ I’d say: ‘take what you need.’ If he’d no one to take his horses to pasture, ‘Go, Iván,’ I’d say, ‘and look after his horses.’ And if I was short of anything, I’d go to him.