Down over the grassy slope of West Hill they went, the boy still well in the rear; you never could tell what might happen; and so came to Fair Street across shadows that lay long to the east. Newbern was still slumberous. Smoke issued from a chimney here and there, but mostly the town would partake of a cold supper. The boy came beside his father, with Frank, the dog, again on his leash of frayed rope. Dave Cowan was reciting to himself:
Enchanted ports we, too, shall touch;
Cadiz or Cameroon—
Then he became conscious of the silent boy at his side, stepping noiselessly with bare feet.
"Life is funny," said Dave.
"Yes, sir," said Wilbur.
"Of course there's a catch in it somewhere."
"Yes, sir."
"That old girl back there, that old maid, she'll have to small-town it all her life. I feel sorry for her, I do."
"Yes, sir."