"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!"