Niggle went, quite quietly. The Driver gave him no time to pack, saying that he ought to have done that before, and they would miss the train; so all Niggle could do was to grab a little bag in the hall. He found that it contained only a paint-box and a small book of his own sketches: neither food nor clothes. They caught the train all right. Niggle was feeling very tired and sleepy; he was hardly aware of what was going on when they bundled him into his compartment. He did not care much: he had forgotten where he was supposed to be going, or what he was going for. The train ran almost at once into a dark tunnel.

He tried to harden his heart; but it was not a success. There were many things that he had not the face to say no to, whether he thought them duties or not; an…

Probably he really became rather useful, though no one ever told him so. But that, of course, cannot have been the reason why they kept the poor little man so …

There was one picture in particular which bothered him. It had begun with a leaf caught in the wind, and it became a tree; and the tree grew, sending out innum…

No straight lines make up my life; And all my roads have bends; There's no clear-cut beginnings; And so far no dead-ends.

I'm on my way, I don't know where I'm goin', I'm on my way, I'm takin' my time, but I don't know where. Goodbye to Rosie, the Queen of Corona See you, me and J…

Now we can cross the Shifting Sands.