“Mainly resolutions,” answered January with a wry face. And then he further said: “So many of them get broken that sometimes I think I’ll move into another house.”
“But then,” put in little Ann, “we shouldn’t have any New Year. And oh, how we’d miss New Year—”
A square-faced clock on the hall-landing struck one just as Ann said she’d miss New Year.
“Oh!” said Ann with a gasp. “Now I’ve got to say a rhyme beginning—‘miss New Year.’ What shall I say?
“Miss New Year, miss New Year—” Then all at once, to her intense surprise, she found herself reciting:
“Miss New Year dressed herself in white,
With crystal buttons shining,
A spangled scarf, all lacy-light
About her shoulders twining;
A bunch of pearly mistletoe,
A twig of ruddy holly,
She tucked among her curls, and oh,
She was so sweet and jolly!
“She tapped upon my window-pane
And waked me, bright and early.
‘Come, come,’ she cried, ‘the sun’s outside,
The winds are gay and whirly!
’Neath winter frost and summer sky,
In spring or autumn weather,
Come out, dear child, and you and I
Will be good chums together!’”
J. M. was the next one to get caught. January had just asked the three to stay to lunch.
“Wish we could,” said the Journeying Man, “but in spite of all these clocks there is no time. I can smell your stew cooking, January—, such stew!”
A clock struck eight just as the Journeying Man said “such stew.” Without hesitation he went on:—