to the end of the letter; and it did seem funny that hot autumn
afternoon, when all the leaves were in a glow, looking as if they had
been burnt up so long they couldn't and wouldn't bear it any longer!
Perhaps they meant to come down. But I suppose, now I come to think of
it, that months don't seem so never-ending to grown-up people as they do
to children; they are more prepared to see the time fly, you don't know
how, so they are not surprised when they find it gone. Besides, you see,
they don't get taller and taller as the months pass, so, of course, the
time must seem to run past very quickly, they standing still all the
while! How odd it must be! I heard a little boy remonstrating last
night--

"Well, but, uncle, if you keep your clothes till next year they'll be
ever so much too small for you!"

Everybody laughed, and told him that uncle, being six feet high, didn't
expect to grow any more; and, of course, as I said before, if Alick's
papa stood still, the time _would_ seem to go very quickly.

And so, I suppose, when the end of October came, he didn't cry out as we
did all of a sudden: "I do declare it is not quite two months to
Christmas!"

It was one damp, misty afternoon, and Lottie, and Alick, and I were
learning our lessons all alone in the school-room. We were trying to get
the last glimmer of daylight at the window, but it was hardly enough to
see what six times nine might be, and that was my great difficulty.

You know, don't you? how the things that "you do so want to say" will
come into your head just when you ought to be very silent and busy! It's