ll sorts
of documents and papers flooded with figures and go into their work, and
talk of cement, sleepers, measurements, curve stresses and strains
generally, and of the particular bits of business on hand; but
occasionally they have a minute or two off and we find ourselves talking
of duck and snipe and overhauling decoys, R. and H. discussing the
chances of the season at this tank or the other. Then they get to
business again, about a native contractor perhaps--is he all right, or
is he not?--and every now and then we disembark and have a brief chat
with a stationmaster, and look at points or trees and buildings; these
matters are gone through pretty quickly, and we get on to the tail of
our train again as it slowly moves off.

We are going now through a gravelly red soil, the sun blazing hot. We go
so comfortably slowly that we can lean out and see our little narrow
gauge train crawling along like a silver grey caterpillar, for the
passenger cars and goods cars are round topped like Saratoga trunks, and
their French grey colour harmonises with the hedge of grey-green cactus
leaves on the side of the line. Beyond the train we see the lines like
curves of blue riband on the yellow and white quartz ballast of the
track. Our little engine puffs up little rags of white against the blue
sky. Add a touch of bright colour, a flutter of pink drapery, and a
brown shoulder, a finely modelled arm and bangle at a carriage window,
catching the cool draught, and you have, I think, quite a pleasant
colour scheme. The track is so tidy that there are white quartz stones
arranged along each side of the yellow quartz ballast, and where there
is sand ballast it is patted down as neatly as a pie crust. R. says it
is difficult to prevent the native navvy making geometric designs with
the coloured quartz.

[Illustration]

By the afternoon we are in a wide-spreading country, only broken with
clumps of palms at great distances. The soil is dull red, almost magenta
at the edge of cuttings, and above on the plains it is yellow ochre with
scrub bushes and many lemon-yellow blossoms. As the sun sets we pass
flocks of sheep and goats collecting for protection within tall zerebas
of thorn and palm leaves. The dust they raise catches the sun and hangs
over them in a golden mist. Far out on the horizon there is one streak
of warm violet where some low hills appear--a simple enough landscape,
with not many features, but with the charm that belongs