192 CHRONICLES OF A CLAY FAEM. 



I hardly know how to describe the sense of high 

 privilege the thought brings with it of being 

 allowed humbly to aid, as it were, in Nature's 

 glorious development. I know of no pleasure that 

 surpasses it or should surpass it except one 

 except one except ONE ! " 



" Goodness help us ! why that 's three ! And 

 what may it be, after all, that lifts the knocker so 

 many times for one visitor ? " 



" Look here, Greening ! do you see that poor 

 fellow cracking his whip over the horses in that 

 lounging devil-may-care fashion? It's his first 

 year at plow : he was ' kipping craows ' for the 

 last two or three. Is n't that a proper amusement 

 for a thing with a human skull, and a real live 

 human brain inside it? That's a promoted scare- 

 crow! Doesn't he look happy?" 



" Well ! he 's a right to do. He 's doing his duty, 

 is n't he, as well as you and me ! You can't do with- 

 out him." 



" Ah ! yes, yes ! that 's the answer. He 's a 

 machine , driving a machine." 



"Well no not exactly that, neither. They 

 tell me a plow ain't a machine. Come, I have 

 you there for once, however. A plow 's only a 

 tool." 



