back, without fear that his team would drag him beyond the starting point of the new furrow.
He had expected to find the soil too dry and so had harnessed three yoke for a deep ploughing. It was well that he had.
He had placed his regulator at the last notch and the sock bit in easily and deeply. The "heel" of the plough left on the headland a trail of fresh earth and the moist clods crumbled and fell apart of themselves in the sun; a light harrowing, and the soil would be ready, as fine as dust.
The eyes of the ploughman twinkled, because all his thought was on his work and it was the sort of work he liked.
As he came within ten paces of the hedge, a voice asked,
"How goes the work?"
"Mighty well," he answered.
"Grand weather!" said the other.
"It's a blessing!"
He eased his plough and stopped the oxen. Between two hazel branches appeared the big blond head of a giant of a man.
"Good morning, Trooper," said the farmer. "It's you! I didn't know your voice."
"It's me. Hello, Corbier! You have a strong team there, and a fine plough."
"I've no fault to find with them," said the ploughman with a touch of pride. They were silent for a
