"Heaven help us otherwise," said he, "for I've but one tale left in my quiver, and if it does not make an end of the job, here we must stay for the rest of our lives, puffing time away in gossamer."
Then Jessica, blowing, cried, "Four o'clock! come in to tea!"
And Joyce said, "Twelve o'clock! baste the goose in the oven."
"Three o'clock! change your frock!" said Jane.
"Eight o'clock! postman's knock!" said Jennifer.
"Ten o'clock! to bed, to bed!" cried Jessica again.
"Nine o'clock!—let me run down the lane for a moment first," begged little Joan.
Then Martin blew eighteen o'clock and said it was six o'clock tomorrow morning. And all the girls clapped their hands for joy—all except Joscelyn, who sat quite by herself in a corner of the orchard, and neither blew nor listened. And so they continued to change the hour and the occupation: now washing, now wringing, now drying; now milking, now baking, now mending; now cooking their meal, now eating it; now strolling in the cool of the evening, now going to market on marketing-day:—till by dinner they had filled the morning with a week of hours, and the air with downy seedlings, as exquisite as crystals of frost.
At dinner the maids ate very little, and Jessica said, "I think I'm getting tired of bread."
"And apples?" said Martin.