Father Time

GEORGE dreamed that night as he had never dreamed before. It was a curious dream, full of dragons, giants, fairies, aeroplanes, motor-cars, all mixed up together. But all the time he half remembered where he was and kept thinking: "I am in bed in the little house that belongs to George, and it must be a dream-house. If it is, then I am dreaming inside a dream."

Every time he thought this he woke up—or seemed to wake up—and then fell asleep again. Alexander dreamed about large bones and crackly biscuits. That was the kind of dream he liked best.

Morning came—but perhaps there had never been any night—and George really awoke, sat up, and rubbed his eyes. The sun was shining through the window, and Alexander had gone.

He washed his face and hands and went downstairs. The table was laid for breakfast with porridge and cream—a jug full!—eggs and bacon, toast, rolls hot from the oven, fresh butter, jam, and marmalade.

The Mr George who lived in this house was a nice person to know. George felt that he would like to stay here for quite a long time if he could only send a message to Mother and let her know where he was.

He sat down feeling quite delighted at having breakfast all by himself, and just as he was drinking his second cup of tea the door opened and in came Alexander.

"Oh, where have you been?" cried George. "Don't you want any breakfast?"

"Wuff! Wuff!" replied Alexander, which meant: "Don't ask me silly questions like that, but give me something to eat."

He ate a good breakfast and drank a whole saucerful of milk, which he hardly ever got at home.

After breakfast George thought it was time to start again. He had quite forgotten about going home now. It seemed quite the right thing to put on his cap and set off again to—where, goodness only knows!

Alexander stood waiting by the door, and George said aloud: "Thank you, Mr George, for your kindness," just to show that he hadn't forgotten his manners; then they went out into the bright sunshine.

George's House stood in a lovely little spot. Birds called to one another from the branches of the high trees; rabbits scuttled in and out of their holes, played hide-and-seek, and even flopped just under Alexander's nose.

George took a deep breath: "Oh, I am enjoying myself," he cried. "Aren't you, Alexander?"

"Ra-ther!" barked Alexander, and ran round and round chasing his tail while all the rabbits sat and watched him. It certainly did seem as if he had spoken that time—but no!—it wasn't possible!

Off they went again. There were sure to be more adventures if one only kept on and on to the end of the wood. Little paths ran in all directions, and each one looked greener and nicer than the other.

"I expect they all go to the same place in the end," said George, and so, without waiting for a moment, he ran as hard as he could down the nearest at hand. It twisted and turned in all directions; sometimes it seemed as if it were turning round and coming all the way back again. At last it gave quite a little jump and went straight ahead.

They walked and ran, and ran and walked by turns; it grew lighter and lighter until they could see the sun shining on the—yes, it was!—the sea.

Now, if there is one place which is jollier than all the others it is the seashore on a sunny day. There is always paddling, bathing, digging, making castles and lakes; besides, the fun of getting caught by a splashy wave is worth while getting wet twice over.

Hurrah for the sea! You could almost hear it calling, for in the summer-time all the little boy-waves love to play with their friends the human boys. Dogs are welcome too if they will swim in after sticks.

In another moment George and Alexander were out of the wood and on the seashore. Such miles of hard yellow sand as far as one could see, and a sea as blue, or even bluer than the sky.

Off came George's clothes, and in he splashed with Alexander after him. The water was as warm as toast, and made him feel like having five minutes more every time he thought of coming out.

George dried himself in the sun and put on his clothes, while Alexander rolled about in the sand and shook himself until he looked like a great mop with all its hair on end. But after a bathe there are usually biscuits, and there were certainly none here.

"I expect we shall find some," said George. "If we don't, we must go back to George's House and have dinner."

He turned to walk up the beach toward the long sand-hills which ran in a line along the shore, and there, sitting not far off him, he saw an old man. This old man had white hair, not very much of it, and a long beard which flowed down to his knees. He was holding something in his hand; George could not see what it was.

"Perhaps he's lost his way. Come on, Alexander; we'll go and ask him," said George.

He was quite a nice old man, and smiled such a kind smile when George took off his cap politely and said: "Good-morning."

"Good-morning, little George," he answered.

"I say, do you know my name?" asked George in surprise. "Oh, are you the Mr George who lives in that little house in the wood, because I slept there. This is Alexander, my dog; he was there with me. He's a very well-behaved dog unless he sees a cat or a rabbit, and then it's an awful bother to get him back. Have you got a dog? And what is that thing you have in your hand? Oh, I forgot I was never to ask more than one question at a time. I am very sorry I was rude."

The old man smiled again. "No, my name is not George. The little house belongs to—well, you will find that out by and by. I haven't a dog of my own, but I know all about dogs. This is an hour-glass. It tells the time. You see the sand trickling down from one glass into the other. When all the sand has trickled through I turn the glass over, and it begins all over again."

"Oh, I say, how jolly!" cried George. "May I look? I've seen an hour-glass in a picture-book I have at home, but this is a real one, isn't it?"

"Quite real," answered the old man; "as real as you are, little George."

George gazed at the hour-glass for some time; then suddenly he remembered something. "Why, I know who is holding the hour-glass in the picture," he said. "It's Father Time.... Oh, you look just like him! Are you Father Time, please?"

"Well, that is what people call me," said Father Time, stroking his long beard and looking at George with a queer look, as if he were trying to see right inside him.

"Then you can really fly?" asked George. "Nurse always says that 'Time flies.' I don't see your wings ... but perhaps you don't need any," he added politely.

Father Time smiled very kindly, and spoke in a very soft, gentle voice: "Yes, I fly, and I have wings, though you cannot see them. The young people think that I fly far too slowly, and when they are grown up they think I fly too quickly.... But the sand in my hour-glass is always falling, falling, never quickly, never slowly."

"And do you have to look after all the clocks in the world?" asked George. "There are ever so many. We've got six in our house, and Father and Mother have got watches as well."

"Yes," replied Father Time. "It gives me a great deal of work, but if it were not for me you wouldn't have any clocks and watches."

"Oh, that would be queer!" exclaimed George. "We should never know if it was time to go to bed or time to get up. Nurse wouldn't like that, for she loves everything to be 'on the tick,' she says. 'A stitch in time saves nine' is what she is always telling me."

"A great many people say that," answered Father Time. "If everybody remembered it, my old cloak wouldn't be as ragged as it is," and he showed George a number of holes and tears which certainly looked as if they needed mending.

Alexander whined and then barked: "Come on, don't talk so much, please!"

"Down, Alexander!" cried George. "We're going in a minute. Oh, please, can you tell me the way to——" And then he stopped, for he really didn't know where he wanted to go to.

"You had better go up the road over there," said Father Time, pointing. "You will find a finger-post which will show you the way. You can't miss it; it is quite easy to find. Good-bye!"

"Oh, wait a minute!" cried George, for old Time was already some way off. He turned and waved his hand.

"Time waits for no man!" he said. "Follow your fortune, little George!"

"He is a funny old man," thought George. "Follow my fortune? Whatever does he mean?"

Far, far off, he heard the sweet music once again. It sounded more inviting than ever. "It's like the story of Dick Whittington, only he had a cat and not a dog. I believe the music is saying: 'Follow your fortune, your fortune, oh, follow!' Come and look for the finger-post, Alexander!" And he ran up the sands toward the road.

Puck flew into the wood. "He's here!" he cried.

The fairies danced round him in delight. "Hurrah!" they cried. "Hurrah!" sounds different altogether and much nicer in their language. "Tell us all about it!"

So Puck sat down and told them all about George's adventures right from the beginning. If you have not remembered everything you must turn back and read it all again for yourself.

"Ker-ek!" croaked the old frog. "But what's all this about Father Time? How do you know he met Time. I don't believe it!" and then he nearly fell backward in surprise, for there stood the old man in front of him.

"Now do you believe?" said Puck's voice, and the fairies burst out laughing, for it was Puck himself all the time!

When the old frog had stopped coughing Father Time had disappeared, and Puck sat there smiling.

"What a clever Puck I am!" he cried, turning head over heels.

TIME FLIES