Iron County register. [volume] (Ironton, Iron County, Mo.) 1867-1965, 1886-05-06
"GOING-TO."

Sometimes come! Hurry up!
Sometimes comet
Sometime! What do you mean?
Where are you, any wayp and who's
speaking to NE? l 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, a 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 isa Well, l
never heard any girl of your age talk
more about it. But come along; you'll
soon find out where it isl
Come along! Wherea How can I
60 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. L was only dreaming then.
But am not asleep now-am l?' 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. mo, 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
l 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 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 l told mother l would after
awhile"
mo, no! Me first! Me first!'' 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: "Ill do that old problem in
couple of minutes"
The problem spoke now. ''You
can't get away, you must do me first. "
every 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.
mo, no! Give me back to my own
er. You said you would in an hour or
so, when you borrowed me this morn
ing
Il 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 oAt the
thimble frOm-where?
Poor Rose looked around despair
ingly. 1t 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 off
Immediately.
Where should she begin2 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 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: ''Mv
dear Going-to-do-it!' But now what
was to be doneP something must. She
never could do all those things. 1t
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: tIt's sometime now, Rose. O
Rose! it's sometime"
What did she do? Well, what any4
other fifteen-year-old girl would have
done. She said: Il can't, | can't,
can t. and then sat down and burst
into tears. Still came the dreadful
chorus: Sometime! sometimen'
"Why, Rose, it's dinner-time! Don't
you hear the bellp' and some one
touched her shoulder.
Rose started, opened her eyes, and
there stood her little brother, laughing
and ringing the bell in her ears. ''How
funny you look when you're asleep!'
he said. 81 almost thought you were
going to cry before shook you
They wondered, at dinner that even
ing, why Rose looked so solemn; and
when dessert time came, and her mother
asked: ''Rose, daar, did you forget
again." something very like tears
filled her eyes as she answered; and