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Updated: May 21, 2025
The ploughmaker was happy in the thought that the jolly girl he had known before his daughter went to college had come back to live with him. After Margaret went to the settlement house she lunched with her father almost every day. The hour together in the midst of the din that filled their lives became for them both a treasured privilege.
The ploughmaker walked away from McGregor. Something in the interview, terminating thus with, the presence of the marching figures had he felt unmanned him. "After all there is youth and the hope of youth. What he has in mind may work," he thought as he climbed aboard a street car.
Still, though none of these faculties could have made much approach to maturity except under the shelter of society, they are not gifts of society. Without the help of a plough, land cannot be ploughed; but we do not therefore credit the ploughmaker with the achievements of the ploughman.
Can some new phase of life arise suddenly upsetting all of our plans? Do you, can you, think of men like me as but part of a vast whole? Do you deny to us individuality, the right to stand forth, the right to work things out and to control?" The ploughmaker looked at the huge figure standing beside the tree.
"I'm glad to see you go," said the ploughmaker briefly. "I'm glad to be going," said McGregor, understanding that there was nothing but relief and honest antagonism in the voice and in the mind of David Ormsby. The Marching Men Movement was never a thing to intellectualise. For years McGregor tried to get it under way by talking. He did not succeed.
Together we should have undertaken the most delicate and difficult of all struggles, the struggle for living beauty in our everyday affairs." Bitterness swept over the old ploughmaker and he used strong words. "The whole point is in what I am now saying. That was my cry to the woman. It came out of my soul. It was the only cry to another I have ever made. Laura was a little fool.
Like David Ormsby the successful maker of ploughs the lawyer looked upon men as pawns in a great game and like the ploughmaker his intentions were honourable and his purpose clear. He was intent upon making much of his life, being successful. If he played the game on the side of the criminal that was but a chance. Things had fallen out so.
As he talked to her he continued to stand thus with his hand on her father's arm. The action caught David's fancy and a thrill of admiration ran through him. "Here is a man," he told himself. "You thought Edith was ready to see us get married. Well she was. She is now and you see what it has done to her," said McGregor. The daughter of the ploughmaker started to speak. Her face was chalky white.
"Let them share only in man's attempt to create beauty. That is the big, the delicate task to which they should consecrate themselves. Why attempt instead the cheaper, the secondary task? They are like this McGregor." The ploughmaker became silent. Taking up the whip he drove the horses rapidly along.
One day he had sat in his office reading a letter announcing her homecoming. The letter seemed no more than a characteristic outburst from an impulsive girl who had but yesterday fallen asleep at evening in his arms. It confused him to think that an honest ploughmaker should have a letter from his little girl talking of the kind of living that he believed could only lead a woman to destruction.
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