By Ruth Plumly Thompson
Author of Speedy in Oz, "The Wizard of Pumperdink," "King, King! Double King!" etc.
Author of Speedy in Oz, "The Wizard of Pumperdink," "King, King! Double King!" etc.
Originally published in the Springfield Union, March 12, 1916, and the Philadelphia Public Ledger, March 19, 1916.
Listen! girls and boys, to a story—a story of Time. In a certain town there once lived a little boy named Junior. On this certain day of our story all the other little boys, with their hair parted very straight, and scores of new pencils and—marbles, and all the little girls, with fearfully clean frocks and lovely bows, with shiny new pencil boxes and brand new copy books, had disappeared into the big red building. It was the first day of school, and Junior was late. He felt pretty bad, so bad, in fact, that he decided not to go to school Sh!—don’t tell! He stood kicking his boot in the dust and wondering what in the world had become of the 15 minutes he had started out with. A gay young breeze happened along just then, and seeing a little boy out of school, called: “Hello, there! You seem to have fallen behind time.”
“I didn’t fall,” said Junior reflectively.
“Dear me!” said the breeze, with a sly wink at the Sun, “perhaps you met Pleasure, then; he is a great one for running off with the minutes.”
“I didn’t meet Pleasure,” said Junior, “but I did meet the loveliest yellow butterfly, and I chased him ever so far.”
“That was Pleasure,” said the breeze, with a chuckle; “now, I wonder whether Curiosity crossed your path this morning.”
“Well,” said Junior, “just as I reached the big elm the fire bells rang; wasn’t much of a fire, though,” he finished abruptly.
“Whee!” said the breeze, with a gusty laugh that sent the leaves skipping down the road; “you need a timekeeper,” and off he rushed, leaving Junior more perplexed than ever.
“Well,” said a voice suddenly, “if you are going to overtake Time, you had better start off; if people looked at me oftener they wouldn’t lose time so often.”
“Are you a timekeeper?” asked Junior squinting up sideways at the Sun.
“The very first, and all of the timekeepers are imitations of me, mere imitations, my dear Junior,” replied the Sun, with a smile that brought the tears to Junior’s eyes. Indeed, he had to look away, and when he looked up again the Sun had hidden himself behind a cloud. So he walked very thoughtfully down the road and soon came up with an old man.
“Have you seen anything of Time?” he asked politely.
“Time!” growled the old man, and pulling out a fat gold watch opened it with a snap; “just half-past nine,” he said.
“But where is Time?” questioned Junior.
“Here, on the face of the watch,” answered the old man irritably.
“Give it to me! Give it to me!” cried Junior, in the greatest excitement.
“Give it to you!” shrieked the old man; “a gold watch to a child! What is he talking about?”
“Much you know!” cried the Sun, coming suddenly from behind the clouds.
Junior looked up—but, what a strange thing had happened! He rubbed his eyes and looked again, and there, instead of the Sun, a great round, jolly watch, with both hands outstretched, rode proudly in the sky. Before Junior had time to think, it began to descend, growing larger and larger, and finally eclipsing everything in sight, came to a stop beside Junior. He climbed hastily up the slippery side (wouldn’t you have?) and stood looking round, till he was suddenly knocked off his feet and seated forcibly upon the hour hand.
“This is like a merry-go-round,” said Junior.
“Not quite so fast,” said the Hour Hand, to Junior’s surprise, and “Low bridge!” it called, as the minute hand came whirling past. All round the edges of this great watch were stationed men-at-arms. They stood straight and tall and strictly at attention. “The Minute Men,” explained the Hour Hand, “and when next you hear the tick of a watch you will know ’tis the Minute Men marking time.” I tell you, they were handsome fellows!
The hour hand now began to revolve slowly and they had soon come to a tall man with a very thin body, and his head was set down beside it instead of atop it. He was very stern.
“Ten o’clock and still school time,” said the Hour Hand, and as far as Junior could see beyond 10 o’clock were hundreds and hundreds of little girls and boys sitting at desks and studying out of huge books. Some of the desks were empty, and when Junior asked the Hour Hand why this was, he answered, “Those are the desks of the boys and girls who are late.”
“Oh!” said Junior and grew very thoughtful, for he had just spied his own vacant desk.
They seemed to be going quite slowly, and the voices of the girls and boys reciting their lessons made him drowsy. Fearing that Junior would fall asleep and tumble off, the Hour Hand began to talk. “Did the sun tell you about Time’s relations?” he asked.
“No,” said Junior sitting up with a start, “has Time any relations?”
“Certainly,” said the Hour Hand, but here they passed another queer person who was chiefly remarkable for the length of his legs and the absence of his head. “Eleven o’clock and still school time,” said the Hour Hand.
As far as Junior could see beyond eleven o’clock were girls and boys still busily studying. “Tell me about Time’s relations,” he said, looking uneasily at a cross teacher whom they were passing.
“Well,” said the Hour Hand, “Time, like most of the rest of us, has poor relations, and you want to look out for them, too. There’s No-Time and Some-Time and Any-Time, for instance; they are always trying to convince folks that they are the Right Time. But if you have anything to do, remember that No-Time is an excuse; that Some-Time will never come and Any-Time will never do.”
Here Junior was startled by a great ringing of bells, followed by shouting and hundreds of laughing voices. They were now directly opposite a jolly person with one long leg and one short leg and a small pleasant face. “Twelve o’clock,” called the Hour Hand, and now out of all the schools children by scores came hurrying. Some skipped rope, some played ball, some played marbles. It was all so very pleasant that Junior forgot to dodge the Minute Hand, which rapped him smartly on the head, and it seemed scarcely believable when they came to a tall and hungry-looking person that he could be One o’Clock and Dinner-Time. Didn’t those dinners smell good! My! Poor Junior riding by on the Hour Hand, was forced to look upon all the little girls and boys in the country eating the bestest dinners. Jams and jellies, and pies and chops, and chicken, sometimes.
How quickly they seemed to be traveling now. Just as he was thinking seriously of slipping off and hunting his own dinner, a short, fiery, little man with a great head bobbed up in their path. “Two o’clock and school time again,” said the Hour Hand, and beyond two o’clock all of the girls and boys were busily studying. One class they passed were having a lesson on time.
“Who was the first timekeeper?” asked the teacher. No one knew.
“The Sun, the Sun!” called Junior in the greatest excitement, but no one paid the slightest attention to him.
Slowly but surely, he was carried past the busy children, and it was not long before they had come to another queer person whom Time hailed as Three O’Clock.
The Hour Hand, as he slowly made his way past the children bending over their books, told Junior much of Time—how very, very old he was, and what a great traveler, how he sometimes flies on the wings of the wind with a gay little sprite called Joy, but how oftener he trudges slowly along with a person whose name is Sorrow. So it seemed not long before they were upon a most triangular body whom you have already guessed was Four O’Clock and Playtime. Now everything became very exciting. The children came hurrying out of school. There were ball games so engrossing that Junior nearly lost his balance. There were merry races. There was fun in every form. Oh! there’s nothing so jolly as Playtime!
The Hour Hand seemed to be traveling now with the swiftness of an express train, and all too soon for Junior they came to a pleasant-faced person of rather remarkable figure. “This,” said the Hour Hand softly, is “Five O’Clock and Story Time.” The children hurried homeward, his old friend the Sun rested on the top of a green hill. Now he gave a dreadful yawn, and pulling a great pink blanket cloud over his head went fast asleep, leaving the world to the pleasant dusk.
“Look,” said the Hour Hand, and out of the dusk Junior saw the story folks coming. Princesses with gleaming hair and Knights in shining armor, and robbers and giants and elves and fairies. They gathered round the children, and together they visited the most wonderful countries.
So busy was Junior watching these delightful folks that he was almost sorry to see a stout little man whom the Hour Hand called Six O’Clock and Suppertime. All the lights were lighted; the story folk fled; the girls and boys gathered round the cheerful supper tables and told about the things at school. Junior grew very hungry and very lonely.
After they had passed supper time the Hour Hand again began to hurry, and they were soon under the very nose of a most dour old fellow. “Seven O’Clock and Lesson Time,” whispered the Hour Hand. Junior thought him most disagreeable.
Now all the girls and boys were nodding over their books and Junior’s eyes grew heavier and heavier. Just as he thought that he must surely fall off with weariness they came to a very fat and sleepy man who yawned widely as they passed. “Eight O’Clock and Bedtime!” droned the Hour Hand, and as far as Junior could see beyond Eight O’Clock were boys and girls cozily tucked in little white beds. All the lights went out and the moon and stars shone over the housetops. Then the mothers came and sat by the bedsides, for it was prayer-time. As Junior looked he saw his own little bed and, slipping quietly from the Hour Hand, he dropped light among its soft pillows and was soon being tucked in by his own dear mother, just as if he had not been to the strangest place in the world.
“I didn’t fall,” said Junior reflectively.
“Dear me!” said the breeze, with a sly wink at the Sun, “perhaps you met Pleasure, then; he is a great one for running off with the minutes.”
“I didn’t meet Pleasure,” said Junior, “but I did meet the loveliest yellow butterfly, and I chased him ever so far.”
“That was Pleasure,” said the breeze, with a chuckle; “now, I wonder whether Curiosity crossed your path this morning.”
“Well,” said Junior, “just as I reached the big elm the fire bells rang; wasn’t much of a fire, though,” he finished abruptly.
“Whee!” said the breeze, with a gusty laugh that sent the leaves skipping down the road; “you need a timekeeper,” and off he rushed, leaving Junior more perplexed than ever.
“Well,” said a voice suddenly, “if you are going to overtake Time, you had better start off; if people looked at me oftener they wouldn’t lose time so often.”
“Are you a timekeeper?” asked Junior squinting up sideways at the Sun.
“The very first, and all of the timekeepers are imitations of me, mere imitations, my dear Junior,” replied the Sun, with a smile that brought the tears to Junior’s eyes. Indeed, he had to look away, and when he looked up again the Sun had hidden himself behind a cloud. So he walked very thoughtfully down the road and soon came up with an old man.
“Have you seen anything of Time?” he asked politely.
“Time!” growled the old man, and pulling out a fat gold watch opened it with a snap; “just half-past nine,” he said.
“But where is Time?” questioned Junior.
“Here, on the face of the watch,” answered the old man irritably.
“Give it to me! Give it to me!” cried Junior, in the greatest excitement.
“Give it to you!” shrieked the old man; “a gold watch to a child! What is he talking about?”
“Much you know!” cried the Sun, coming suddenly from behind the clouds.
Junior looked up—but, what a strange thing had happened! He rubbed his eyes and looked again, and there, instead of the Sun, a great round, jolly watch, with both hands outstretched, rode proudly in the sky. Before Junior had time to think, it began to descend, growing larger and larger, and finally eclipsing everything in sight, came to a stop beside Junior. He climbed hastily up the slippery side (wouldn’t you have?) and stood looking round, till he was suddenly knocked off his feet and seated forcibly upon the hour hand.
“This is like a merry-go-round,” said Junior.
“Not quite so fast,” said the Hour Hand, to Junior’s surprise, and “Low bridge!” it called, as the minute hand came whirling past. All round the edges of this great watch were stationed men-at-arms. They stood straight and tall and strictly at attention. “The Minute Men,” explained the Hour Hand, “and when next you hear the tick of a watch you will know ’tis the Minute Men marking time.” I tell you, they were handsome fellows!
The hour hand now began to revolve slowly and they had soon come to a tall man with a very thin body, and his head was set down beside it instead of atop it. He was very stern.
“Ten o’clock and still school time,” said the Hour Hand, and as far as Junior could see beyond 10 o’clock were hundreds and hundreds of little girls and boys sitting at desks and studying out of huge books. Some of the desks were empty, and when Junior asked the Hour Hand why this was, he answered, “Those are the desks of the boys and girls who are late.”
“Oh!” said Junior and grew very thoughtful, for he had just spied his own vacant desk.
They seemed to be going quite slowly, and the voices of the girls and boys reciting their lessons made him drowsy. Fearing that Junior would fall asleep and tumble off, the Hour Hand began to talk. “Did the sun tell you about Time’s relations?” he asked.
“No,” said Junior sitting up with a start, “has Time any relations?”
“Certainly,” said the Hour Hand, but here they passed another queer person who was chiefly remarkable for the length of his legs and the absence of his head. “Eleven o’clock and still school time,” said the Hour Hand.
As far as Junior could see beyond eleven o’clock were girls and boys still busily studying. “Tell me about Time’s relations,” he said, looking uneasily at a cross teacher whom they were passing.
“Well,” said the Hour Hand, “Time, like most of the rest of us, has poor relations, and you want to look out for them, too. There’s No-Time and Some-Time and Any-Time, for instance; they are always trying to convince folks that they are the Right Time. But if you have anything to do, remember that No-Time is an excuse; that Some-Time will never come and Any-Time will never do.”
Here Junior was startled by a great ringing of bells, followed by shouting and hundreds of laughing voices. They were now directly opposite a jolly person with one long leg and one short leg and a small pleasant face. “Twelve o’clock,” called the Hour Hand, and now out of all the schools children by scores came hurrying. Some skipped rope, some played ball, some played marbles. It was all so very pleasant that Junior forgot to dodge the Minute Hand, which rapped him smartly on the head, and it seemed scarcely believable when they came to a tall and hungry-looking person that he could be One o’Clock and Dinner-Time. Didn’t those dinners smell good! My! Poor Junior riding by on the Hour Hand, was forced to look upon all the little girls and boys in the country eating the bestest dinners. Jams and jellies, and pies and chops, and chicken, sometimes.
How quickly they seemed to be traveling now. Just as he was thinking seriously of slipping off and hunting his own dinner, a short, fiery, little man with a great head bobbed up in their path. “Two o’clock and school time again,” said the Hour Hand, and beyond two o’clock all of the girls and boys were busily studying. One class they passed were having a lesson on time.
“Who was the first timekeeper?” asked the teacher. No one knew.
“The Sun, the Sun!” called Junior in the greatest excitement, but no one paid the slightest attention to him.
Slowly but surely, he was carried past the busy children, and it was not long before they had come to another queer person whom Time hailed as Three O’Clock.
The Hour Hand, as he slowly made his way past the children bending over their books, told Junior much of Time—how very, very old he was, and what a great traveler, how he sometimes flies on the wings of the wind with a gay little sprite called Joy, but how oftener he trudges slowly along with a person whose name is Sorrow. So it seemed not long before they were upon a most triangular body whom you have already guessed was Four O’Clock and Playtime. Now everything became very exciting. The children came hurrying out of school. There were ball games so engrossing that Junior nearly lost his balance. There were merry races. There was fun in every form. Oh! there’s nothing so jolly as Playtime!
The Hour Hand seemed to be traveling now with the swiftness of an express train, and all too soon for Junior they came to a pleasant-faced person of rather remarkable figure. “This,” said the Hour Hand softly, is “Five O’Clock and Story Time.” The children hurried homeward, his old friend the Sun rested on the top of a green hill. Now he gave a dreadful yawn, and pulling a great pink blanket cloud over his head went fast asleep, leaving the world to the pleasant dusk.
“Look,” said the Hour Hand, and out of the dusk Junior saw the story folks coming. Princesses with gleaming hair and Knights in shining armor, and robbers and giants and elves and fairies. They gathered round the children, and together they visited the most wonderful countries.
So busy was Junior watching these delightful folks that he was almost sorry to see a stout little man whom the Hour Hand called Six O’Clock and Suppertime. All the lights were lighted; the story folk fled; the girls and boys gathered round the cheerful supper tables and told about the things at school. Junior grew very hungry and very lonely.
After they had passed supper time the Hour Hand again began to hurry, and they were soon under the very nose of a most dour old fellow. “Seven O’Clock and Lesson Time,” whispered the Hour Hand. Junior thought him most disagreeable.
Now all the girls and boys were nodding over their books and Junior’s eyes grew heavier and heavier. Just as he thought that he must surely fall off with weariness they came to a very fat and sleepy man who yawned widely as they passed. “Eight O’Clock and Bedtime!” droned the Hour Hand, and as far as Junior could see beyond Eight O’Clock were boys and girls cozily tucked in little white beds. All the lights went out and the moon and stars shone over the housetops. Then the mothers came and sat by the bedsides, for it was prayer-time. As Junior looked he saw his own little bed and, slipping quietly from the Hour Hand, he dropped light among its soft pillows and was soon being tucked in by his own dear mother, just as if he had not been to the strangest place in the world.
Originally published in the Philadelphia Public Ledger, September 1, 1918
A Prescription Against Growing-Upness
The old King, looking sober-like,
Upon one August day
To Solomon Tremendous Wise
Once took his royal way.
Sir Solomon was testing out
Some curious invention,
And ’twas some time before the King
Could get his sage attention.
At last he pushed his specses back
And slowly glanced around.
“Upon my word, Your Majesty!
Well, I’ll be tied and bound!
“How long have you been waiting here?
Now have a chair—take two—
And tell me straight at once—right off—
What service I may do!”
The King sat down quite heavily,
Two tears rolled down his cheeks;
His royal voice was all choked up,
And sadly now he speaks:
“Old friend, I’m ’fraid an awful thing
Is going to happen. Say!
Do you, sir, realize that we
Grow older every day?
“Yes, sir; I’m worried, Solomon.
There’s just one dreadful thing
Might happen to the whole of us—
Yes, even to your King!”
Old Solomon set down his rules,
Set down his testing cup.
“What is it?” “Oh,” the poor King wailed,
“You know—we might grow up!”
“I don’t mind growing older, but
To grow up—Oh, my stars!
How dull, how simply awful
In a kingdom run like ours!”
“Upon my head and heart and heels,
Well I should think and say—”
Quoth Solomon, “I’ll look into
This matter right away!”
The King with thoughtful shake of head
Goes off; the wise man takes
With troubled frown a big book down
And sundry entries makes!
Then, chuckling, runs at top speed to
The palace. “Do no fear
That growing-upness,” laughed the sage,
“For this prescription here
“Will make it plumb impossible
No matter, sire, how old
One grows, just so one doesn’t let
The heart get stiff and cold!
“Just so he keeps his laughing muscles
Well in use and plastic,
And exercises so his heart
Is sure to keep elastic.
“And I prescribe three games a day,
A circus once a year,
With forty picnics scattered through
For everybody here.
“Five miles a day, a lot of sun,
With singing in between,
And none of us will be a bit
Heart-older than sixteen!”
Upon one August day
To Solomon Tremendous Wise
Once took his royal way.
Sir Solomon was testing out
Some curious invention,
And ’twas some time before the King
Could get his sage attention.
At last he pushed his specses back
And slowly glanced around.
“Upon my word, Your Majesty!
Well, I’ll be tied and bound!
“How long have you been waiting here?
Now have a chair—take two—
And tell me straight at once—right off—
What service I may do!”
The King sat down quite heavily,
Two tears rolled down his cheeks;
His royal voice was all choked up,
And sadly now he speaks:
“Old friend, I’m ’fraid an awful thing
Is going to happen. Say!
Do you, sir, realize that we
Grow older every day?
“Yes, sir; I’m worried, Solomon.
There’s just one dreadful thing
Might happen to the whole of us—
Yes, even to your King!”
Old Solomon set down his rules,
Set down his testing cup.
“What is it?” “Oh,” the poor King wailed,
“You know—we might grow up!”
“I don’t mind growing older, but
To grow up—Oh, my stars!
How dull, how simply awful
In a kingdom run like ours!”
“Upon my head and heart and heels,
Well I should think and say—”
Quoth Solomon, “I’ll look into
This matter right away!”
The King with thoughtful shake of head
Goes off; the wise man takes
With troubled frown a big book down
And sundry entries makes!
Then, chuckling, runs at top speed to
The palace. “Do no fear
That growing-upness,” laughed the sage,
“For this prescription here
“Will make it plumb impossible
No matter, sire, how old
One grows, just so one doesn’t let
The heart get stiff and cold!
“Just so he keeps his laughing muscles
Well in use and plastic,
And exercises so his heart
Is sure to keep elastic.
“And I prescribe three games a day,
A circus once a year,
With forty picnics scattered through
For everybody here.
“Five miles a day, a lot of sun,
With singing in between,
And none of us will be a bit
Heart-older than sixteen!”
Copyright © 2024 Eric Shanower and David Maxine. All rights reserved.
