"Allen!" she said at last.
"Here!" he answered. "I'm here, you bet."
"Just look at the lights," she said seriously, "and then think. There's Bess and Opie—not speakin' to each other. Over there's the Hubbelthwait farm that they've left for the hotel—an' Threat Hubbelthwait drunk all the time. An' Howells's, poor and can't pay, and don't care if they can't, and quarrels so folks can hear 'em from the road. And the Moneys', that's so ugly to the children, and her findin' fault, and him can't speak without an oath. That only leaves the Topladys' over there that's real, regular people. And she kind o' bosses him."
"Well, now, that's so, ain't it?" said Allen, looking at the lights with a difference.
Chris's right hand was warm in his great-coat pocket, and she suddenly snuggled close to him, her chin on his shoulder.
"Oh, Allen," she said, "I'm afraid!"
"What? On the Plank Road?" he wanted to know, missing her meaning.
"All them folks started out with presents, and a house, like us," she said, "and with their minds all made up to bein' happy. But just look at 'em."
"Well," said Allen, reasonably, "we ain't them."