CHAPTER II.
Seeing a number of children going to school, he followed them in, and sat down with them.
They all started as the schoolmaster came in to sing—
We have no time to learn our lessons,
No time! no time at all,
We do not want to gain any sense,
As we have no sense like Paul.
“I suppose Paul is the schoolmaster,” said Guy to the girl sitting next to him.
“What is your name?” she asked.
“Guy,” he answered.
Then they all began to sing again—
There was a little boy,
And he was called a guy,
He wished to know Oom Paul;
But like the rest of us,
He had no sense at all.
Guy became very angry upon hearing this, and began himself to sing—
You have no sense at all!
You need not tell me so.
I’ve no time to talk to you,
So I’ll take my hat and go.
“School is dismissed,” said the schoolmaster, “I have no time to-day to hear lessons.”
Guy went down a narrow lane, or passage, it seemed, as it was carpeted; he saw a little boy crying.
“What’s the matter?” said Guy.
“I have no time to tell you,” he said.
“Oh, rubbish,” said Guy; “make time.”
The boy looked up in surprise.
“Why that is what they used to say to me before I came down here. But I am not clever, and I cannot make anything, not even time.”
Guy was disgusted.
“No;” he said, “stupids like you want a good beating, and I would like to give you one, only I think it would be a waste of time to give you even that.”
“I did not know time had a waist,” said the boy. “I thought it was only people.”
“You thickhead,” said Guy, and walked off.
“What funny words he uses,” said the boy “I wonder where he comes from? But, oh dear; I have no time to think.”
Almost at the end of the passage Guy came to a large eight-day clock; he stood and gazed at it with surprise; and well he might. For the clock was fixed upon a long stick; in the centre of the clock the eyes and lips moved as if it was alive. Outside the face it had figures all round, in order to tell the time of day. The arms and hands protruded from the sides of the clock like numerous arms and hands; which gave it rather an odd look. The pendulum hung below, swinging backwards and forwards. Just as Guy was looking at him, the clock opened his mouth, rolled up his eyes, and began to sing—
Tick, tick, I’m a clock upon a stick;
Never on a shelf I’ll stay;
But in this no-time-land
Upon a stick I’ll stand,
And my pendulum will wag all day.
“Dear me,” said Guy; “I’ve heard something like that before; but it sounds all wrong?”
“Everything is wrong in this land,” said the clock.
“How is that?” asked Guy.
“No time,” said the clock.
“Did you ever study?” again asked Guy.
“Study?” questioned the clock, in a tone of surprise. “I have heard of a person being in a brown study, if that is what you mean.”
“No, no! Study the time,” said Guy. “If you studied time you might manage to get along better, you know.”
“Oh! I get along alright,” said the clock; “only if there is no time, how can you study it?” He gave such a loud tick, and pulled such a funny grimace that it frightened Guy, so he began to run; and, as he turned the corner, seeing no one was after him, he stopped to take breath, and there right in front of him was a large open piece of ground, in the centre of which was a summer house, and roads branching all ways from it, and sign-posts saying where each road led to.
