CHAPTER XXIII CONCERNING HAPPINESS, A PLOUGHMAN, AND SILVER BUTTONS
Now as I went, pondering on true happiness, and the nature of it, I beheld a man ploughing in a field hard by, and, as he ploughed, he whistled lustily. And drawing near to the field, I sat down upon a gate and watched, for there are few sights and sounds I am fonder of than the gleam of the ploughshare and the sighing whisper it makes as it turns the fragrant loam.
"A truly noble occupation!" said I to myself, "dignified by the ages—ay—old, well nigh, as the green earth itself; no man need be ashamed to guide a plough."
And indeed a fine sight it made, the straining horses, the stalwart figure of the Ploughman, with the blue sky, the long, brown furrows, and, away and beyond, the tender green of leaves; while the ji
