Bandit's notes

What's that, dear papa? You're kicking us off the family plot? Your younger sons are good-for-nothings who deserve a mess of porridge at most, you're gonna give Joefler everything, and we're to go make our own sorry way in the world? Well, we went, papa, we went - and now we've our own plot. Sure, might be a hill barely sticking out of the bog, a few trees and some rushes. No crops will take here, but we don't mind. There was no room for us in the fields, so now, well, guess we'll just never touch rake nor hoe ever again.

What's that you ask, papa? How we plan to live? I'll tell you. We've never met with much good from our fellow men, so we've decided to repay the favor. Either they'll give us what we want, or they'll end like you, papa, you and your dear Joefler. With a knife between their ribs.