The Draught Ox—-A Survival 331 
THE DINNER-HOUR. 
us ‘ad to light some straw under un’s nose and smoke un up, that us did. This 
perfarmence went on for some time—e run a bit an’ ’e lay a bit, but lor, ve ‘ad many 
a worse un.” 
I handed the ox-man my tobacco pouch. 
“T wor a-thinkin—” remarked the ox-boy, after a pause; but, unless Trine’s theory 
is true that our thoughts become material and set far-reaching forces in motion at the 
moment we think them, the world will never benefit by Bill’s thought, for just then 
the rain lessened, a ray of sunshine glanced coyly through a rift in the clouds, and— 
two of the oxen lay down! 
When a light plough is used, three or four beasts are sufficient, and they are 
driven in single file, while the lucky ones that are not required look over the hedge 
of the next field at their labouring kindred with an ai of conscious superiority, no 
doubt metaphorically patting themselves on the back. 
Oxen are more intelligent than they are given credit for, and ‘‘Champion” (or 
“Chomp-yin,” in the vernacular), the leader of the span, knows his own and _ his 
yoke-mate’s work perfectly. It will be noticed in the illustration “Turning the Plough,” 
that the ox-man and boy are attending to the plough and wheel pair of oxen respectively, 
while the leaders are left to themselves. This is because “Champion,” the big red 
beast, is there in charge—and well he knows it. 
No doubt eventually the use of oxen for draught purposes will quite die out, but 
I hope it will be some years yet before a fly can no longer quote, “And so we 
plough along.” 
