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158
Adventures in Contentment
·
David Grayson
20
--Do
not
apologise,
friend,
when
you
come
into
my
field.
You
do
not
interrupt
me.
What
you
have
come
for
is
of
more
importance
at
this
moment
than
corn.
Who
is
it
that
says
I
must
plow
so
many
furrows
this
day?
Come
in,
friend,
and
sit
here
on
these
clods:
we
will
sweeten
the
evening
with
fine
words.
We
will
invest
our
time
not
in
corn,
or
in
cash,
but
in
life.--
I
walked
with
confidence
down
the
hill
toward
the
professor.
So
engrossed
was
he
with
his
employment
that
he
did
not
see
me
until
I
was
within
a
few
paces
of
him.
When
he
looked
up
at
me
it
was
as
though
his
eyes
returned
from
some
far
journey.
I
felt
at
first
out
of
focus,
unplaced,
and
only
gradually
coming
into
view.
In
his
hand
he
held
a
lump
of
earth
containing
a
thrifty
young
plant
of
the
purple
cone-flower,
having
several
blossoms.
He
worked
at
the
lump
deftly,
delicately,
so
that
the
earth,
pinched,
powdered
and
shaken
out,
fell
between
his
fingers,
leaving
the
knotty
yellow
roots
in
his
hand.
I
marked
how
firm,
slow,
brown,
the
old
man
was,
how
little
obtrusive
in
my
field.
One
foot
rested
in
a
furrow,
the
other
was
set
among
the
grass
of
the
margin,
near
the
fence--his
place,
I
thought.
His
first
words,
though
of
little
moment
in
themselves,
gave
me
a
curious
satisfaction,
as
when
a
coin,
tested,
rings
true
gold,
or
a
hero,
tried,
is
heroic.
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