His mouth was open and his fork poised just
before it, while his eyes were fixed upon the newspaper folded
beside him. Jim helped himself to his uncle's pie, and while he ate
it he walked out to his prisoner.
"There's one thing I don't understand," said he.
"What's that?" asked Father Time.
"Why is it that I'm able to move around while everyone else
is--is--froze up?"
"That is because I'm your prisoner," answered the other. "You can do
anything you wish with Time now. But unless you are careful you'll
do something you will be sorry for."
Jim threw the crust of his pie at a bird that was suspended in the
air, where it had been flying when Time stopped.
"Anyway," he laughed, "I'm living longer than anyone else. No one
will ever be able to catch up with me again."
"Each life has its allotted span," said the old man. "When you have
lived your proper time my scythe will mow you down."
"I forgot your scythe," said Jim, thoughtfully.
Then a spirit of mischief came into the boy's head, for he happened
to think that the present opportunity to have fun would never occur
again. He tied Father Time to his uncle's hitching post, that he
might not escape, and then crossed the road to the corner grocery.
Pages:
91
92
93
94
95
96
97
98
99
100
101
102
103
104
105
106
107
108
109
110
111
112
113
114
115