That Jim had a tender heart I know, for when we lost a very favourite horse, one which “you could not put at the wrong job,” I found him weeping and much distressed.  Later he said, “When you lose a horse I reckon it’s a double loss, for you haven’t got the horse or the money.”  My mind being dominated by the unanswerable accuracy of the latter part of the statement, I did not, for a moment, see that the first part was fallacious, because, of course, one could not have both at one and the same time.

He was an excellent ploughman, and considerable skill is demanded to manage the long wood plough, locally made, and still the best implement of the sort on the adhesive land of the Vale of Evesham.  It has no wheels, like the ordinary iron plough has, to regulate the depth and width of the furrow-slice, because in wet weather, if tried on this almost stoneless land, the wheels become so clogged with mud and refuse, such as stubble from the previous crop, that they will not revolve, sliding helplessly involved along the ground.  Even the mould-board is wood, generally pear-tree, to which the mud does not adhere, as happens with iron.  As an old neighbour explained to me, “You can cut the newest bread with a wooden knife, whereas the doughy crumb of the bread would stick to a steel one.”  Pear-tree wood is used because it wears “slick” (smooth), and does not splinter like wood which is longer in the grain.

With these long wood ploughs the ploughman himself regulates the depth and width of the furrow-slice—­i.e., each strip that is severed and turned over—­by holding the handles firmly in the correct position as the plough travels along, for it cannot be left for a moment to its own inclination.  This entails strict attention and much muscular effort, and, of course, the latter comes into play also in turning at each end of the field.  The result is very effective; the flat mould-board offers the least possible resistance to the inversion of the soil, whereas the iron plough, with a curling mould-board, presses the crest of the furrow-slice into regularity of form, and gives a more finished appearance at the expense of much extra friction and labour for the horses.

A carter-boy accompanies each team, as driver, to keep the horses up to their work and turn them at the ends.  A farmer I knew in Hampshire would not, if possible, employ a boy unless he could whistle—­of course the ability and degree of excellence is a guide to character, and indicates to some extent a harmonious disposition; he always said, “Now whistle,” when engaging a new boy.

There are few more pleasant agricultural operations to watch and to follow than a lusty team, a skilful ploughman, and a whistling boy at work, on a glowing autumn day, when the stubble is covered with gossamers gleaming with iridescent colours in the sunshine.  The upturned earth is fragrant, the fresh soil looks rich and full of promise, there is the feeling that old mistakes and disappointments are being buried out of sight, and the hope and anticipation of the future.