The Arizona sentinel., 1886-05-22
"GOING-TO."
Rose Murray's Ten Minutes Experience
 in Sometime.

 Sometimes comen
 Sometime! What do you mean? Where are you, any way? and who's speaking to me? 1 don't see any one, !" and Rose Murray rubbed her eyes, shrugged her shoulders, and pinched her hand little, just to find out if she were awake, or if she were dreaming. She wasn't dreaming, that she knew; for the same voice, with no apparent owner, kept on talking. And such queer things it said in that unpleasant way!
 "Sometime! That's next door to in- a-minute, close neighbor to after awhile and going-to-do it. Pretty-soon, tomorrow, -of-these-days-they can all be found together. And you don't know where sometime is? Well, never heard any girl of your age talk more about it. But come along; you'll soon find out where it is"
 "Come along! Where? How can I go anywhere with only voice?'
 ''How did you go to Paris last week, and to that strange party the other night, where the girls all wore their school dresses, and the boys forgot to stand by themselves on one side of the room?"
 ''Those places! I didn't go to either of those. 1 was only dreaming then. But am not asleep now-am IF" and Rose squeezed her left-hand little fin ger very hard, and rubbed the heel of her foot carefully on the sensitive side of her right foot. No, I'm not asleep. Where are you going to take me?'
 ''Never mind, just come," replied the voice; and added, as Rose moved slowly in the direction from which it came: Now you're in Sometime, and 1 hope you'll enjoy yourself. I'll come back for you one of these days-One of these days" and the voice died away as it repeated these words in a mali cious tone.
 What queer dream I've had, ]" thought Rose; ''this is my own room, and it's almost dinner-time by the clock. I'd better go and make the dessert 1 told mother 1 would after awhile"
 No, no! Me first! Me frstr" called out voices all around her-sOme close by her, some far away, some loud, some so faint that she could just catch the words-but so many! The room was full of them, and each one be- longed to something. The loudest of all came from the algebra at her feet, which had fallen from her lap as she looked over the last St. NichOLaS, say ing: ''rll do that old problem in a couple of minutes"
 The problem spoke now: ''You cant get away, you must do me first. "
 "Very well, answered Rose; you re a great bother to me, but I'll soon set tie you;" and she took pencil from the table in preparation for hard work.
 No, no! Give me back to my own CT. You said you would in an hour or so, when you borrowed me this morn ing"
 II want to be sewed up," demand ed a great rent in her dress. You promised to do me sometime, and it's sometime now.
 "Put me in order, then," came from the work-basket.
 "Find me first" cried out the thimble from-where?
 Poor Rose looked around despair ingly. It was her own room, truly, but it was so full of voices, so crowded with things that ought to be done, and so many more were pushing in through the doors and windows! What should she do? Books wanted to be returned to their owners, the newspaper must be read to her grand mother, pictures must be hung straight, the table drawer must be put in order, even the dust on the furni- ture insisted that it should be taken of immediately.
 Where should she begin? Be done they must; and she went to work in good earnest, trying to quiet some Of the voices nearest her. But what was the use? for every thing done, dozen others crowded around her. Promises she had made long ago kept calling to her; and, worst of all, little, still voices in her heart reminded her of her broken promise to amuSe the baby while her mother took a nap before dinner, of the visit she had meant to make sick friend, of the little quar- rel she had been going to make right with her cousin, of the bundle of warm clothes she had promised to give Tommy Brown, the washer-woman'S son, early in the winter.
 Rose had been called little pro- crastinator long before she knew what the big word meant; and only last week one of her best friends had writ ten to her, and begun the letter: ''My dear Going-to-do-it!' But now what was to be done? something must. She never could do all those things. It seemed as if every thing she had meant to do and didn't do, every thing she had promised to do and had forgotten to do, since the time she was five years old, was here now, pushing against her, and crying to her with tormenting voices: '.Its sometime now, Rose. o Rosei it's sometime"
 What did she doP Well, what any