“No, that was Cæsar Augustus, and we are coming to him. Julius Cæsar lived before that, and he arranged the years so that all the even numbers among the months, except February, had thirty days, and all the odd ones thirty-one. Do you understand that?”
“Not I,” said Phœbe, frankly.
“January is the first month; it is not an even number?”
“No,” said Phœbe.
“March is the third month, and so is not an even number?”
“No,” said Phœbe again.
“They each then, being odd, had thirty-one days, while May and July, and the other even months, except February, had thirty days. That was all very easy, and the length of the year seemed settled; but when Cæsar Augustus came on the throne he was not satisfied. ‘What,’ said he, ‘shall Julius Cæsar in his month of July have thirty-one days, and I, in my month of August, have but thirty!’ And so he at once made August longer.”
“He was very foolish,” said Phœbe. “I was born in February, wasn’t I, mother? and I don’t care because Roger was born in December, when there are more days.”
“But you are not a Cæsar,” replied her teacher. “At any rate this Cæsar made the year all wrong again; and in 1582 Gregory, who was Pope, set to work to help matters. He had to drop some days, I believe, in the first year just as we are going to now. The French and Italian people, and some others, were wise enough to see this improvement at once, and they adopted Pope Gregory’s year; but we, for nearly two hundred years more, have been getting along with the old way, and our new year comes ahead of almost everybody else’s, and those who travel get their dates badly mixed.”
“Surely,” said Roger, “it would be best to have the same year the world over.”