some people, perhaps, who have worked months and months making one single thing—just as we have worked to go to see it. And, perhaps, at first they were afraid they couldn't do it; and they set their minds to it as we did, and tried and tried, and then did it at last. I like to think of those men and women, Meg—because, when the city has melted away, the things won't melt. They will last after the people—and we are people too. I'm a man and you are a woman, you know, though we are only twelve; and it gives me a strong feeling to think of those others."
"It makes you think that perhaps men and women can do anything, if they set their minds to it," said Meg quite solemnly. "Oh, I do like that!"
"I like it better than anything else in the world," said Rob. "Stop a minute, Meg! Come here in the shade!"
He said the last words quickly, and pulled her to the roadside, where a big tree grew which threw a deep shadow. He stood listening.
"It's wheels," he whispered. "There is a buggy coming. We mustn't let anyone see us."
It was a buggy. They could tell that by the lightness of the wheels, and it was coming rapidly. They could hear voices—men's voices, and they drew back and stood very close to each other.
