Ploughing < 1 9 



and extreme of sterility. At White Oaks 

 they had made such riotous growth, Major 

 Baker knew there was no such thing as turn- 

 ing the untouched vines under. So he had 

 put hogs upon them to eat them down, leaf 

 and pod and branch. Only the long, tough 

 vines remained, and the wads of fibrous stuff 

 the hogs had thrown out after chewing it and 

 sucking the sweet juice. Still, even the vines 

 made a nasty tangle. Joe was glad he did 

 not have to deal with it. He smiled as across 

 the sunlit distance he heard Dan shouting : 

 " Whoa-haw-w dar you, Tige ! Git up, 

 Nancy ! Tote yosef. Beck ! Tote yosefs ! - 

 All you black gals, tote ! " 



His own team was ready. Against Dan's 

 advice, he had Wicked Sal in the lead. She 

 was not wicked to him - — never wicked at all, 

 as he saw it, only tricksy and full of mischief 

 as a kitten. Her kicking even was prankish. 

 Altogether she was ever so much a better mule 

 than Blarney, who stood next, not to name 

 being quicker than Beauty, who worked on 

 the off-side. He loved all three — had he not 

 played with them ever since they were foaled, 

 and helped to break them ? He had taught 

 them to start and stop at his whistle, a soft 

 piping something like a partridge's feeding 

 call. In the pasture they ran to him even if 

 they were hungry, following him like dogs if 



