"We oughtn't to have anything that would make it any easier for us to watch, and besides, the dogs weren't to blame. They don't need to sit up with us—let 'em have their sleep."
"All right," Romeo grunted. "Shall we divide the night into watches and one of us sit on the car while the other walks?"
"No, we'll watch together, and we won't sit on the car—we'll sit on the cold, damp ground. If we take cold and die it will only serve us right."
"We can't take cold in June," objected Romeo, "with two blankets."
"Unless it rains."
"It won't rain tonight," he said, gloomily; "look at the stars!"
The sky was clear, and pale stars shone faintly in the afterglow. There was not even a light breeze—the world was as still and calm as though pain and death were unknown.
When they reached the scene of the accident, Romeo set the two red lanterns at the point where the back of the car touched the road. They spread one blanket on the grass at the other side of the road and sat down to begin their long vigil. Romeo planned to go home to breakfast at sunrise and bring Juliet some of the mush and milk left from supper. Then, while she continued to watch the machine, he would go into town and make arrangements for its removal.
"Is there room in our barn for both cars?" she asked.
"No. Ours will have to come out."