And as he spoke they noticed
another change in the world about them. Three of the party noticed it
--the males, Uncle Felix, Tim, and Come-Back Stumper.
For the light was fading; it was getting darker; there was a slight
sense of chill, a growing dimness in the air. They realised vaguely
that the Tramp was leaving them, and that with him went the light, the
heat, the brilliance out of their happy day.
They turned with one accord towards him. He still lay there beside his
little fire, but he seemed further off; both his figure and the
burning sticks looked like a picture seen at the end of a corridor, an
interminable corridor, edged and framed by gathering shadows that were
about to cover it. They stretched their hands out; they called to him;
they moved their feet; for the first time this wonderful day, there
was hurry in them. But the receding figure of the Tramp withdrew still
further and further, until an inaccessible distance intervened. They
heard him singing faintly "There is no hurry, Life has just
begun...The world is young with laughter...We can fly..." but the
words came sighing towards them from the inaccessible region where he
lay, thousands of years ago, millions of miles away, millions of
miles.
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