dio where she
could keep her canvas and paints. Every evening when she came home her
father would ask anxiously about the picture, for he was not well
enough to go to see it and he knew Rosa was working very hard on it.

Even her genius could not make it possible for her to paint such a
picture as this without much preparation. In fact, she had been
preparing for it for years,--as far back as when she made her first
drawing of oxen, and then later when she went to the packing houses
and made separate studies of each part of an ox. She knew just how
those great muscles did their work, and just how the curving ribs and
the joints did their part. In this picture she shows us just enough of
their movements to make us feel the great strength and power of those
patient animals.

Our wonder grows anew that even one such powerful ox can be controlled
by man's will. It is plain to see that the ox nearest us, of the
middle pair, does resent the prodding with the stick which the driver
uses so vigorously. His great eye rolls and he looks indignant, but
it is only for the moment--he accepts all with resignation and
indifference, knowing that it will be the turn of one of the other
oxen next. These oxen are geared together by a central pole which is
fastened to their horns. This causes them to take the entire weight of
the plow with their horns instead of with their shoulders as our
horses do. It would seem to be a most uncomfortable arrangement, yet
they are used to it.

The leaders must be chosen very carefully if the farmer would have a
straight furrow. It seems as if these first two oxen in the picture
feel the responsibility, and are glad and willing to do their part.
There is a look of intelligence about them that makes us certain that
they know and understand the worth of the thing they are doing.

Oxen in our country are driven by the words "gee," meaning turn to the
right, and "haw," turn to the left. However, the drivers in this
picture would not use these words, for they are Frenchmen, and would
speak to them in their own language.

It is easy to tell that the ground is soft by the way the feet of the
oxen sink down into it, and by the man's wooden shoe which has half
slipped off his foot as he starts to lift it from the ground. On this
quiet, peaceful morning we can almost hear the heavy tread of the
oxen as they pass us, and the harsh call of the drivers as they urge
them on. In imagination we can smell the freshl