and they stood a moment looking at each other. They were both thinking of the same thing, but somehow they did not put it into words.
"We'll wash off the dust first," said Robin. "And then we'll eat some of the things we have left from what the woman gave us. And then we'll go to bed—and we shall drop just like logs."
And this they did, and it was certainly a very short time before the smoky little lamp was out, and each had "dropped like a log," and lay stretched in the darkness with a sense of actual ecstasy, in limbs laid down to rest and muscles relaxed for sleeping.
"Robin," said Meg drowsily, through the dark that divided them, "everybody—in the world—has something to give to—somebody else."
"I'm thinking that too," Robin answered, just as sleepily. "Nobody is so poor—that—he—hasn't anything. That—boy"—
"He let us have his hard bed," Meg murmured; "and he—hastn't seen"—
But her voice died away—and Robin would not have heard her if she said more. And they were both fast—fast asleep.
