We are the measure of things,
The rule of their stir and sweep,
And wherever a little child weeps or sings
It is his soul we keep.
At last, when sixty Minutes had danced and chorussed past, there was, of course, the first rosy Hour ever to have her coming and passing marked since earth began. And when the Hour was gone, Vertebrata’s mother felt the feeling of enough, and she said to Vertebrata:—
“That will do, dear. Now you may go and play.”
That was the first exact hour’s practising that ever any little girl did by any sort of clock.
“Ribbon-fish mine,” said the Prehistoric Man to his wife, when Vertebrata had finished, “I have been thinking additional thoughts. Why could we not use the circle in other ways?”
“What ways, besides for your coming home and for Vertebrata’s practising?” asked the Prehistoric Woman; but we must forgive her for knowing about only those two things, for she was a very Prehistoric Woman indeed.
“Little bones might be laid between the big bones,” said the Man—and by that of course
