upon each other. I wake, and find my neighbour with his head upon
my shoulder. It seems a shame to cast him off; he looks so
trustful. But he is heavy. I push him on to the man the other
side. He is just as happy there. We roll about; and when the train
jerks, we butt each other with our heads. Things fall from the rack
upon us. We look up surprised, and go to sleep again. My bag
tumbles down upon the head of the unjust man in the corner. (Is it
retribution?) He starts up, begs my pardon, and sinks back into
oblivion. I am too sleepy to pick up the bag. It lies there on the
floor. The unjust man uses it for a footstool.

We look out, through half-closed eyes, upon the parched, level,
treeless land; upon the little patchwork farms of corn and beetroot,
oats and fruit, growing undivided, side by side, each looking like a
little garden dropped down into the plain; upon the little dull
stone houses.

A steeple appears far away upon the horizon. (The first thing that
we ask of men is their faith: "What do you believe?" The first
thing that they show us is their church: "THIS we believe.") Then
a tall chimney ranges itself alongside. (First faith, then works.)
Then a confused jumble of roofs, out of which, at last, stand forth
individual houses, factories, streets, and we draw up in a sleeping
town.

People open the carriage door, and look in upon us. They do not
appear to think much of us, and close the door again quickly, with a
bang, and we sleep once more.

As we rumble on, the country slowly wakes. Rude V-shaped carts,