The Wayward Bus

by John Steinbeck

There was a very early morning with chill air and the sun was coming up behind the mountains and in a muddy road little gray birds were hopping. There wasn’t any reason for joy, but it had been there.

When people got old they grew frightened of smaller and smaller things. Her father was frightened of a strange bed or a foreign language or a political party he didn’t belong to.

Our ancestors had faith.” “They had to eat,” Ernest said. “They didn’t have time for faith. People don’t work much any more. They’ve got time for faith.”