“Time is
Too slow for those who wait,
Too swift for those who fear,
Too long for those who grieve,
Too short for those who rejoice,
But for those who love Time is
Eternity.”

So it is written on a sun-dial I know, and when I have a sun-dial of my own, those words shall be written thereon.

“I think time lies heavily sometimes on Hugh’s hands.  He said one day, “The days pass by, Betty, and we don’t grow up!”

To return to booksellers.  There is “Truslove and Hanson” in my more or less immediate neighborhood, who are civil to a degree, but they did not know Cousin Penelope’s father, therefore they are not specially qualified to sell a book to his daughter!  So to Bumpus I must go, and I love it.  A bookshop is a joy to me; the feel of books, the smell of books, the look of books, I love!  I even enjoy cutting the pages of a book, which I believe every one does not enjoy.

Then there is another country cousin, Pauline.  When her letter comes, I open it with mixed feelings, in which the feeling of fondness predominates.  One can’t help loving her.  She never asks one to shop for her, but with her, which is perhaps an even greater test of friendship.  On a particularly hot day, I remember, a letter came from Pauline which announced her immediate arrival.  I was, waiting in the hall for her, ready to start, which is a stipulation she always makes, as she says it is such a pity to waste time.  She greeted me in the same rather tempestuous manner that I am accustomed to at the hands of Betty and Hugh, and then she ran down the steps again to tell the cabman that he had a very nice horse, which she patted, and said, “Whoa, mare!” She always does that.  She then asked the cabman how long he had been driving, whether it was difficult to drive at night, and whether it was true he could only see his horse’s ears; and I think she asked if he had any children, but of that I am not quite sure.  If she didn’t, it was a lapse of memory on her part.  Even the cab-runner interested her.  Hadn’t I noticed what a sad face he had?

I said I hadn’t noticed anything except that he was rather dirty.  Pauline said, “Of course he is dirty; what would you be, if you ran after cabs all day?” I wondered.

Talking of cab-runners, I told her of the children’s party I went to with Cousin Penelope, who, very much afraid that she was late, said in her sweetest manner to a man who opened the cab-door for us, “Are we late?” And the man answered, “I really cannot say, madam; I have only just this moment arrived myself.”

He was in rags, which I did not tell her; the sponge cake would have stuck in her throat at tea if I had.  But I gave him something for his ready wit, and wished for weeks afterwards that I had plunged into the darkness after him.  “What a charming man!” said Cousin Penelope.  But to return to Pauline.

“What a glorious day we are going to have!” she said.  “It is good of you to say I may stay the night, and if I go to a ball, you won’t mind?  I have brought a small box, —­ as you see.”