“Good people! do you know that to-morrow is a very great and important day? We shall have to keep it in honour of our merciful escape to this land, and call it Thanksgiving-Day.”
Everyone was surprised to hear that we had already been twelve months in the country—indeed, my wife believed I might be mistaken, until I showed her how I had calculated regularly ever since the 31st of January, on which day we were wrecked, by marking off in my almanac the Sundays as they arrived for the remaining eleven months of that year.
“Since then," I added, “I have counted 31 days. This is the 1st of February. We landed on the 2nd; therefore to-morrow is the anniversary of the day of our escape. As my bookseller has not sent me an almanac for the present year, we must henceforth reckon for ourselves.”
“Oh, that will be good fun for us,” said Ernest. “We must have a long stick, like Robinson Crusoe, and cut a notch in it every day, and count them up every now and then, to see how the weeks and months and years go by.”
“That is all very well, if you know for certain the number of days in each month, and in the year. What do you say, Ernest?”
“The year contains 365 days, 5 hours, 48 minutes and 45 seconds,” returned he promptly.
“Perfectly correct!” said I, smiling; “but you would get in a mess with those spare hours, minutes, and seconds in a year or two, wouldn't you?”
“Not at all! Every four years I would add them all together, make a day, stick it into February, and call that year leap year.”
“Well done, Professor Ernest! We must elect you astronomer royal in this our kingdom, and let you superintend and regulate everything connected with the lapse of time, clocks and watches included.”
