CHAPTER III.
Guy read some of the signs. One was to the land Selfishness, another to Forgetfulness. To the land of Put-off, and By-and-by. Another was I Can’t and I Won’t.
“Oh, dear! They are all as bad as the one I am in, and I’ve no time to read any more. Dear! Dear! I am always saying no time myself now;” and, feeling very miserable, he entered the arbour, sat down on one of the cane chairs, and, putting his arms on the table, rested his head on them.
“What a dreadful muddle things have got into.”
“Perhaps you have stirred up the mud,” said a voice.
Guy started! “The only sensible thing I have heard yet,” he thought; and, looking up, saw on the mantelpiece—he never noticed a fireplace in the arbour before—a little old man holding a scroll.
“May I ask your name, please sir?” said Guy.
“Mr. Memory-Pricker,” replied the little man; “but I am called M.P. for short.”
“Why, that stands for member of Parliament too,” said Guy.
“Well, it is the same thing,” answered the little man. “You see, ‘Parle’ in French means to speak. So it is meant, that I, an active member, speak to, and prick up, people’s memories; it is what people would call a play upon words; only you have a way of putting it backwards.”
“Please, sir, can you tell me why this is called No-Time-Land; at least, how it got its name?”
“Well, I think I can,” said the M.P. “You must have noticed people hurrying along bent on some great purpose, but they never seem to attain that purpose; or to put it still plainer, they want to do some great thing, or even little things, but they never get time, they say, to do them, so all their great and little ideas end in simple talk. Consequently, and in fact, all lazy people who say they have no time, are sent to No-Time-Land.”
“Do they ever leave here? Mr. M.P.”
“Sometimes,” said the little man, “when they stray into my arbour, I prick up their memories; they occasionally turn over a new leaf then, if they wish to overcome their bad habits; but it is not often,” sighed he, “not often!”
“May I ask what you use the scroll for, please sir?”
“Yes; this is my scrap book. I am a collector of poetry, wise sayings, and various other things of interest. Here is a piece—you may like to read.”
Guy got up and went close to the scroll, and read these lines—
No time like the present
To do the things that are right;
If you let your chances slip,
They may vanish from your sight.
Then do the thing that’s right,
Find time to help another;
Let love be the golden rule,
No time lost in endeavour.
“I like that,” said Guy. “I think I will have a try, too.”
“Small beginnings may lead to great endings,” said the Memory Pricker.
Ting, ting, went a bell. A great noise arose. Guy hurried out to see what it was all about. People were hurrying along, shouting “Kill him! Kill him! Kill him!”
“Kill who?” cried Guy, running up to a small boy.
“Time, of course;” said the boy.
“But why kill him,” cried Guy. “What has he done?”
“You simpleton,” said the other, “have you never heard of ‘People killing time’ or ‘Murdering the time’?”
“Yes I have,” remarked Guy; “but instead of ‘Killing’ him, suppose you try and ‘Keep’ time my boy?” so saying, Guy stuck out his leg and tripped him up. Guy heard Mr. Time laugh and shout out—
Tick, tick, said the clock upon a stick,
“Pride will have a fall,” they say.
But Guy heard no more, for he had to run, as the little boy was chasing him. He ran and ran till he was nearly out of breath, and thought the boy would soon catch him, as he was gaining on him fast.
When he heard someone shaking him, and saying, “Guy, dear! Guy, wake up! the breakfast bell has rung, and you will be late for school.”
“Oh! Mother,” said Guy, “can it all be only a dream?”
“Yes, sonny; you have been very fast asleep; but hurry, now, and you can tell me your dream as soon as you are dressed.”
While he was eating his breakfast, he told his mother his dream.
“Was it not a strange dream, Mother?”
“Yes, dearie; but strange dreams are often sent us for some wise purpose, if we have only the wisdom to understand the meaning of them.”
“You mean, Mother, it was sent to break me of my fault of always saying ‘I have no time.’”
His mother smiled, and said “Just that, sonny!”
In after years, Guy used to say that dream of his was at the bottom of all his success in life, as he mastered a bad fault, and at last quite gave up saying “I have no time,” but always “found time” for everything, not only in doing his own work, but also in helping others, so that his life became a truly happy and useful one.
And now, dear little readers, will you also try and overcome your faults? Not in your own strength, for then you will surely fail; but in the strength of Him, who said “Be ye perfect, even as your Father in Heaven is perfect.” Then you, too, can claim the promise, which is this:—“He that overcometh shall inherit all things, and I will be his God, and he shall be my son.”—Rev. xxi. 7.
“Time is short,
If idly spent, no art or care
Time’s blessing can restore;
And God requires a strict account
For every misspent hour.”
Printed at The Examiner Office,
Launceston, Tasmania.
Transcriber’s Note:
Punctuation and spelling inaccuracies were silently corrected.