Book One - Chapter 23 Concerning Happiness - a Ploughman - and Silver Buttons

Now as I went, pondering on true happiness, and the nature of it,
I beheld a man ploughing in a field hard by, and, as he ploughed,
he whistled lustily. And drawing near to the field, I sat down
upon a gate and watched, for there are few sights and sounds I am
fonder of than the gleam of the ploughshare and the sighing
whisper it makes as it turns the fragrant loam.

"A truly noble occupation!" said I to myself, "dignified by the
ages--ay--old, well nigh, as the green earth itself; no man need
be ashamed to guide a plough."

And indeed a fine sight it made, the straining horses, the
stalwart figure of the Ploughman, with the blue sky, the long,
brown furrows, and, away and beyond, the tender green of leaves;
while the jingle of the harness, the clear, merry, whistled
notes, and the song of a skylark, high above our heads, all
blended into a chorus it was good to hear.

As he came up to where I sat upon the gate, the Ploughman
stopped, and, wiping the glistening moisture from his brow,
nodded good-humoredly.

"A fine morning!" said I.

"So it be, sir, now you come to mention it, it do be a fine day
surely."

"You, at least seem happy," said I.

"Happy?" he exclaimed, staring.

"Yes," said I.