The Maryville times. (Maryville, Tenn.) 1884-1944, 1886-05-19
"GoING-TO."

-sc"-
in Sometime.
Sometimes come! Hurry up!
Sometimes GOMEZ"
sometime! What do you mean9
Where are you, any waye and who's
speaking to me? 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, one-of-these-days-they can
all be found together. And you don't
know where sometime is? Well, l
never heard any girl of your age talk
more about it. But come along; you II
soon find out where it isl
"Come along! WhereP How can l
60 anywhere with only voicep'
How did you 60 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
roomP"
Those places! I didn't go to either
Of those. was only dreaming then.
But am not asleep now-am II" and
hose 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: Nov you're in Sometime, and
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 60 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: 'I'll do that old problem in a
couple Of minutes.
The problem spoke now: "You
cant get away, you must do me first. "
Every well, answered Rose; "yOu re
great bother to me, but I'll soon set.
tie YOU" and she took q 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 OF
so, when you borrowed me this morn
ing"
Il want to be sewed up" demand.
ed great rent in her dress. "YOu
promised to do me sometime, and its
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. 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 dop 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 pul
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 wa.
the use? for every thing done, a dozer
others crowded around her. Promise.
she had made long ago kept calling to
her; and, worst of all, little, still
voices in her heart reminded her O.
her broken promise to amuse the bah,
while her mother took nap before
dinner, of the visit she had meant t.
make a sick friend, of the little quar-
rel she had been going to make RICH
with her cousin, of the bundle O
warm clothes she had promised to Civ,
Tommy Brown, the washer-woman'
son, early in the winter.
Rose had been called a little pro
:rastinator long before she knew wha
the big word meant; and only las
week one of her best friends had writ
ten to her. and begun the letter: IN,
dear Going-to-do-it!' But now wha
was to be done? something must. Sh,
never could do all those things.
seemed as if every thing she had mean
to do and didn't do, every thing sh,
had promised to do and had forgotten
to do, since the time she was five year
old, was here now, pushing agains
her, and crying to her with tormentin.
voices: ''It's sometime now. Rose.
Rose! it's sometime"
WIS; did she do? Well, what am
other fiftpen-vpar-old vir1 vo;,lS hav,