the morning, at the first rosiness of dawn, when all the other occupants of the car were still asleep or restlessly trying to be at ease.
It was as if they both wakened at almost the same moment. The first shaft of early sunlight streaming in the window touched Meg's eyelids, and she slowly opened them. Then something joyous and exultant rushed in upon her heart, and she sat upright—and Robin sat up too, and they looked at each other.
"It's the day, Meg!" said Robin,—"it's the day!" Meg caught her breath.
"And nothing has stopped us," she said. "And we are getting nearer and nearer! Rob, let us look out of the window."
For a while they looked out, pressed close together and full of such ecstasy of delight in the strangeness of everything, that at first they did not exchange even their whispers.
It is rather a good thing to see—rather well worth while even for a man or woman—the day waking, and waking the world, as one is borne swiftly through the morning light and one looks out of a car window. What it was to these two children only those who remember the children who were themselves long ago can realise at all. The country went hurrying past them, making curious sudden revelations, and giving
