he meant measuring off minutes. “By certain of them you could roast flesh and not kneel continually beside the fire. By certain of them you could boil eggs, make meet the cakes, and not be in peril of burning the beans. Also . . .”
He was silent for a moment, looking away over the soft breast of the wood where the sun was shining its utmost, because it has so many reasons.
“When I look at that moving finger on the circle thing,” he said slowly, “it feels as if whoever made the sun were saying things to me, but with no words. For his sun moves, and the finger on the circle thing moves with it—as if it were telling us how long to do this thing, and how long to do that thing—you and me and Vertebrata. And we must use every space between the bones—and whoever made the sun is telling us this, but with no words.”
The Prehistoric Woman looked up at her husband wonderfully.
“You are a great man, Troglodyte!” she told him.
At which he went away to hunt, feeling for the first time in his prehistoric life as if there were a big reason, somewhere out in the air, why he should get as much done as he could.
