You do not go through Egypt without comparing the village Achmed, who is so often at your side, with poor Hodge, whom you left at home, but who, nevertheless, is often in your thoughts. You ask which of the two is better off; and which is, after all, the better man? And you ask yourself these questions not without some misgivings, for you are pleased with Achmed, and now that you are free from work and care, and with the glorious world unfolding itself before you, you are disposed, when you are reminded of him, to feel more pity than usual for poor Hodge. They both work alike on the land all their days. The former for the Khedivé, the latter for farmer Giles. Each of them is at the bottom of the social hierarchy to which he belongs. These, however, are points of resemblance only in words: the things the words stand for in the two cases are very different. In fact, there are no resemblances at all between them. It is now winter. Hodge turned out this morning long before daylight. The ground was hard frozen; but by-and-by it will all be snow-slush. He had to look after his horses, and get down, before people began to stir, to the town, five or six miles off, for a load of manure. Or, perhaps, he did not get up quite so long before daylight to-day. It would have been of no use, for he is now working in a wet ditch, up to his ankles in mud all day long, facing a hedge bank. This is a job that will take him three or four weeks. It is winter work, in out-of-the-way fields; and no one will pass in sight all day. He will eat his breakfast of bread and cheese, alone, seated on the damp ground, with his back against a tree, on the lea-side; and his dinner of the same viands, in the same place, and with the same company.