226 THE FACE OF THE FIELDS 



ing, hiring, avoiding, denying, until life, which is 

 the sum of all inconveniences, has been reduced 

 to its infantile nothingness — the protest against 

 the personal effort of breathing which is exist- 

 ence. 



Not so for the Commuter. He is compelled 

 to live. I have been reckoning up my incon- 

 veniences: the things that I possess; the things 

 I have that are mine ; not rented, borrowed, hired, 

 avoided, but claimed, performed, made, owned; 

 that I am burdened with, responsible for ; that re- 

 quire my time and my hands. And I find that, for 

 a fairly full life there are inconveniences enough 

 incidental to commuting. 



To begin with, there is the place of the Com- 

 muter's home. Home *? Yes, no doubt, he has a 

 home, but where is it? Can Heaven, besides the 

 Commuter, find out the way there *? 



You are standing with your question at the en- 

 trance of the great terminal station as the wintry 

 day and the city are closing, and it is small won- 

 der that you ask if God knows whither, over the 

 maze of tracks reaching out into the night, each 

 of this commuting multitude is going. But follow 

 one, any one of the bundled throng — this one, 



