it they are carrying? Not maize stalks this time, nor bushy
cotton twigs, for these stalks are a dull crimson at the upper end. It
is sugar-cane, which grows in quantities here, and forms a more
profitable crop than maize. You will see it sold at the stations; the
people buy it, and, breaking off a joint, eat it with pleasure.

We cannot tear ourselves away from this fascinating window even for a
moment; far in the distance across the green fields and waving palm
trees we see glimpses of the desert, looking pinkish-yellow, and rising
up in it, changing with every mile we travel, are many pyramids, not
only those famous ones at Gizeh we visited yesterday, but others
stretching farther and farther away. You will notice that the favourite
colour for the dress of the peasants, or fellaheen, as they are called,
is a glorious blue, but that all the women are in black--most unsuitable
of hues, as they live and move and have their being amid drab-coloured
dust; khaki would be much better.

As our breakfast, though better than that in France, was nothing so very
wonderful, we begin to feel hungry, and are ready to go along early to
the luncheon-car; we had a good dinner in that one on the train coming
up from Port Said to Cairo, and anticipate something of the same kind.
As we get up the American remarks casually, "Best pull in your belts and
have a smoke--there isn't any."

No luncheon-car! No means of getting any kind of refreshment on the
train! And we, having started at eight, are in for a journey of fourteen
hours! Lively this! It is one of the little incidental discomforts of
travel! The American is in the same plight himself. But he found out
soon after we started that there was no restaurant-car; it only runs
three times a week, for the season hasn't begun yet!

We call the Egyptian attendant to find out if there is any prospect of
buying anything on the way. He stands grinning very affably but doesn't
understand a word of English. Presently, however, he seems to
understand, and dashes off, to return triumphantly with a feather-brush
in his hand with which he violently flops the seats of the carriages and
all our personal belongings until we are choked and smothered with the
dust.

In English fashion we have kept the windows open, not realising that in
this country it is impossible, and that slowly we have been silted up
with a layer of fine soft dust; but we didn't feel the inconvenience of
it much until this idio