Melchiors Dream and Other Tales | Page 5

in a pan, with
ginger, spice, and sugar, and then lay back in his chair and sipped it
slowly, gazing before him, and thinking over his misfortunes.
"The night wore on, the fire got lower and lower, and still Melchior sat,
with his eyes fixed on a dirty old print that had hung above the
mantelpiece for years, sipping his 'brew', which was fast getting cold.
The print represented an old man in a light costume, with a scythe in

one hand and an hour-glass in the other; and underneath the picture in
flourishing capitals was the word TIME.
"'You're a nice old beggar,' said Melchior, dreamily. 'You look like an
old hay-maker who has come to work in his shirt-sleeves, and forgotten
the rest of his clothes. Time! time you went to the tailor's, I think.'
"This was very irreverent; but Melchior was not in a respectful mood;
and as for the old man, he was as calm as any philosopher.
"The night wore on, and the fire got lower and lower, and at last went
out altogether.
"'How stupid of me not to have mended it!' said Melchior; but he had
not mended it, and so there was nothing for it but to go to bed; and to
bed he went accordingly.
"'But I won't go to sleep,' he said; 'no, no; I shall keep awake, and
to-morrow they shall know that I have had a bad night.'
"So he lay in bed with his eyes wide open, and staring still at the old
print, which he could see from his bed by the light of the candle, which
he had left alight on the mantelpiece to keep him awake. The flame
waved up and down, for the room was draughty; and as the lights and
shadows passed over the old man's face, Melchior almost fancied that it
nodded to him, so he nodded back again; and as that tired him he shut
his eyes for a few seconds. When he opened them again, there was no
longer any doubt--the old man's head was moving; and not only his
head, but his legs, and his whole body. Finally, he put his feet out of
the frame, and prepared to step right over the mantelpiece, candle, and
all.
"'Take care,' Melchior tried to say, 'you'll set fire to your shirt.' But he
could not utter a sound; and the old man arrived safely on the floor,
where he seemed to grow larger and larger, till he was fully the size of
a man, but still with the same scythe and hour-glass, and the same airy
costume. Then he came across the room, and sat down by Melchior's
bedside.

"'Who are you?' said Melchior, feeling rather creepy.
"'TIME,' said his visitor in a deep voice, which sounded as if it came
from a distance.
"'Oh, to be sure, yes! In copper-plate capitals.'
"'What's in copper-plate capitals?' inquired Time.
"'Your name, under the print.'
"'Very likely,' said Time.
"Melchior felt more and more uneasy. 'You must be very cold,' he said.
'Perhaps you would feel warmer if you went back into the picture.'
"'Not at all,' said Time; 'I have come on purpose to see you.'
"'I have not the pleasure of knowing you,' said Melchior, trying to keep
his teeth from chattering.
"'There are not many people who have a personal acquaintance with
me,' said his visitor. 'You have an advantage--I am your godfather.'
"'Indeed,' said Melchior; 'I never heard of it.'
"'Yes,' said his visitor; 'and you will find it a great advantage.'
"'Would you like to put on my coat?' said Melchior, trying to be civil.
"'No, thank you,' was the answer. 'You will want it yourself. We must
be driving soon.'
"'Driving!' said Melchior.
"'Yes,' was the answer; 'all the world is driving; and you must drive;
and here come your brothers and sisters.'
"Melchior sat up; and there they were, sure enough, all dressed, and

climbing one after the other on to the bed--his bed!
"There was that little minx of a sister with her curls (he always called
them carrot shavings), who was so conceited (girls always are!) and
always trying to attract notice, in spite of Melchior's incessant
snubbings. There was that clever brother, with his untidy hair and bent
shoulders, who was just as bad the other way; who always ran out of
the back door when visitors called, and was for ever moping and
reading: and this, in spite of Melchior's hiding his books, and
continually telling him that he was a disgrace to the family, a perfect
bear, not fit to be seen, etc.--all with the laudable desire of his
improvement. There was that little Hop-o'-my-Thumb, as lively as any
of them, a young monkey, the worst of all; who was always in mischief,