The three drove out together into the land lying about the gate of dawn. A fragment of moon was in the east. There was about the hour something primitive, as if, in this loneliest of all the hours, the world reverted to type, remembered ancient savage differences, and fell in the primal lines.
"Allen," Chris said, "you'll miss her. I mean miss knowin' she's alive."
"Yes," the boy said, "I'll miss knowin' she's alive."
"Well, we must try to settle what to do with the little boy," she suggested hastily.
"Yes," he assented, "that's right. We've got to settle that," and at this they fell silent.
"There's Hopkins's," Chris said presently, nodding toward the home of the neighbour who had waited their coming to Jacob's cottage. "But she'll hev to be over there lots to-day and to-morrow. And she was kep' up so late it don't hardly seem as if we'd ought to stop and ask her."
"No," Allen said, "I donno as it does, really."
"There's Cripps's," she suggested a little farther on, "but they ain't up yet. I donno's 'twould do to roust 'em up."
"No," Allen agreed, "best not do that, I guess." Christopha looked over the great fields.