"Dear old moms. She does annoy me sometimes, but she has had a hard time. I'm going to see that it's better in the future."
And then Anne forgot all about her old home, and sat nervous and very timid on the edge of the taxi seat.
At dawn, Roger and Anne went down to the lake edge. In the east, the cold, night gray was melting in green and silver pools. Not a sound. Not a ripple on the surface of the lake. Beyond the lower hills, granite mountains rose, peak upon peak, to the snow-covered barrier beyond which the world lay. They stood silent, hand in hand, part of the eternal youth of the dew-drenched earth.
Behind the towering mountains were cities and hurrying men. Anne knew it because they had passed through them the night before, but it was hard to remember and impossible to visualize. This was the core of the world, calm, absolute in its perfect understanding, untouched by hurry or man's confusion.
Anne pressed closer to Roger and he put his arm about her.
The green and silver pools brightened with the coming light; a faint, crimson glow, herald of the day, spread its warmth for the advance of the sun, and then, suddenly, a great jolly sun looked over the rim of the world and laughed at them. They laughed back.
"The old fool thinks he's surprised us. As if we didn't know he was there and going to do exactly that."
Anne made a face at the sun, just as the breakfast bell at the ranch rang for the milkers' breakfast.
Hand in hand, they turned from the lake. The sun was already well over the mountain top. The herald had rolled his crimson carpet and gone. Day had come.