They were so rusty from long idleness that he could scarcely move them.

He tried to think of some rhyme with which to command them; but it had been so long since he had done any thinking, except for his own selfish pleasure, that his brain refused to work.
However, he toiled on all night, slowly cutting down the grain stalk by stalk.

Towards morning the scissors became brighter and sharper, until they finally began to open and shut of their own accord.

The whole field was cut by sunrise.

Now the peasant's wife had risen very early to go down to the spring and dip up some cool water for her husband to drink.
She came upon Ethelried as he was cutting the last row of the grain, and fell on her knees to thank him.