The Field of Clover | Page 3

progress; here it was in thin blade, and here green, but in full ear; and
here it was ripe and ready for harvest. 'How is this,' he said to the first
man he met, 'that you have corn here in the middle of winter?' 'Ah!' said
the man, 'you have not heard of the Galloping Plough; you too have to
fall under bondage to my master.' 'What is your master?' inquired

Noodle, 'and in what bondage does he bind man?'
'My master, and your master that shall soon be,' answered the old man,
'is the owner of all this land and the farmer of it. He is rich and sleek
and fat like his own furrows, for he has the Galloping Plough as his
possession. Ah, that! 't is a very miracle, a wonder, a thing to catch at
the heartstrings of all beholders; it shines like a moonbeam, and is
better than an Arab mare for swiftness; it warms the very ground that it
enters, so that seeds take root and spring, though it be the middle of
winter. No man sees it but what he loses his heart to it, and sells his
freedom for the possession of it. All here are men like myself who have
become slaves because of that desire. You also, when you see it, will
become slave to it.'
Noodle went on through the summer and the spring corn, till he came
to bare fields. Ahead of him on a hill-top he saw the farmer himself,
sleek and rosy, and of full paunch, lolling like a lord at his ease; yet
with a working eye in the midst of his leisure.
To and fro, up to him and back, shot a silver gleam over the purple
brown of the fields; and Noodle's heart gave a thump at the sight, for
the spell of the Galloping Plough was on him.
Now and then he heard a clear sound that startled him with its note. It
was like the sweet whistling cry of a bird many times multiplied. Ever
when the silver gleam of the Plough had run its farthest from the farmer,
the cry sounded; and at the sound the gleam wavered and stayed and
flew back dartingly to the farmer's side. So Noodle understood how this
was the farmer's signal for the Plough to return; and the Plough knew it
as a horse its master's voice, and came so fast that the wind whistled
against its silver side.
As he watched, Noodle's heart went down into the valley and up the
hillside, following in the track of the Galloping Plough. 'I can never be
happy again,' thought he; 'either I must possess it, or must die.'
He came to the farmer where he sat calling his Plough to him and
letting it go; and the farmer smiled, the wide indulgent smile of a man

who knows that a bargain is about to fall his way.
'What is the price,' asked Noodle, 'of yonder Galloping Plough, that
runs like an Arab mare, and returns to you at your call?'
Said the farmer, 'A year's service; and if the Plough will follow you, it
is yours; if not, then you must be my bondman until you die!'
Noodle looked once the way of the Galloping Plough, and his heart
flapped at his side like a sail which the wind drops and lets go; and he
had no thought or will left in him but to be where the Galloping Plough
was. So he closed hands on the bargain, to be the farmer's servant either
for a year, or for his whole life.
For a year he worked upon the farm, and all the while plotted how he
might win the Galloping Plough to himself. The farmer kept no watch
upon it, nor put it under lock and key, for the Plough recognised no
voice but his own, nor went nor came save at his bidding. In the night
Noodle would go down to the shed or field where it lay, and whistle to
it, trying to put forth notes of the same magical power as those which
came through the farmer's lips.
But no sound that came from his lips ever stroked life into its silver
sides. The year was nearly run out, and Noodle was in despair.
Then he remembered the firestone ring, the Sweetener. 'May be,' said
he, 'since it changes to sweetness whatever I eat and drink, it will
sweeten my voice also, so that the Plough will obey.' So he put the ring
between his lips and whistled; and at the sound his heart turned a
somersault for joy, for he felt that out of his mouth the farmer's magic
had been over-topped and conquered.
The Galloping Plough stirred faintly from the furrow