He gathered them closer to him with both
arms. Even Maria wriggled slightly nearer--an inch or so.
"It means," he said in still lower tones, "the calendar,"--then
stopped abruptly to examine the effect upon them.
Now, ordinarily, they knew quite well what a calendar was; but this
new, strange emphasis he put upon it robbed the word suddenly of all
its original meaning. Their minds went questioning at once:
"What _is_ a calendar?" asked Judy carefully--"exactly?" she added, to
make her meaning absolutely clear. It sounded almost like a nonsense
word.
"Exactly," he repeated cautiously, yet with some great emotion working
in him, "what is a calendar? That's the whole question. I'll try and
tell you what a calendar is." He drew a deeper breath, a great effort
being evidently needed. "A calendar," he went on, while the word
sounded less real each time it was uttered, "is an invention of
clever, scientific men to note the days as they pass; it records the
passing days. It's a plan to measure Time. It's made of paper and has
the date and the name of the day stamped in ink on separate sheets.
When a day has passed you tear off a sheet.
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