"It is," admitted the Vicar. "But he has to do it to get a living, you know. To get food to eat and all that kind of thing."
"How curious!" said the Angel. "Do all men have to do that? Do you?"
"Oh, no. He does it for me; does my share."
"Why?" asked the Angel.
"Oh! in return for things I do for him, you know. We go in for division of labour in this world. Exchange is no robbery."
"I see," said the Angel, with his eyes still on the ploughman's heavy movements.
"What do you do for him?"
"That seems an easy question to you," said the Vicar, "but really!—it's difficult. Our social arrangements are rather complicated. It's impossible to explain these things all at once, before breakfast. Don't you feel hungry?"
"I think I do," said the Angel slowly, still at the window; and then abruptly, "Somehow I can't help thinking that ploughing must be far from enjoyable."
"Possibly," said the Vicar, "very possibly. But breakfast is ready. Won't you come down?"
