The Queer Side of Things.
THE DWINDLING HOUR.
A Story of Impression and Convision; being, possibly, a true word spoken in jest.
I.
N an hour," sang the minstrel to his harp, whose frame was the curved black horn of a deer―"in an hour thy forefather strode from this spot whereon we sit to the summit of yon blue hill; and there, as the sinking sun would bend to caress his feet (as grovels a vanquished foe), he would touch its face with his hand in token of friendliness. 'Twixt dawning of day and noon would thy great forefather slay three hundred red-eyed wolves―one hundred shuffling bears!
"In a day did he carve and hew this bowl from the hardest rock, and fashion and form it thus; and bore a hole in its base for the water to trickle and ooze, and number the hours that sped!"
Then up rose the hunter to whom he sang; and broad was his chest, and active his limb; and he cried aloud, "What my forefather did that will I do; in an hour will I stride from here to the summit of yon blue hill."
And those that sat around, listening, laughed from their deep chests, shouting in mockery; for the blue hill was a day's journey away.
Then in anger the chief clutched his spear of flint; and he cried to them, "Fill up the bowl to the mark that marks an hour, and fill it up again till the two hours mark is reached; and ere the last drop is out will I stand on yon blue hill; and moisten my hand in the bowl."
Then turned he his face to the West, and, striding, stood on the cairn that capped the blue hill; and, returning, plunged his hand in the bowl: and, lo! his finger was moistened by the last drop ere it dripped from the hole at the base!
Then those that sat around sent up a shout of mockery; and they said, "Lo, since you strode away hath the red sun set on the hill, and hath risen again from the lake; and is stooping to set once more!"
"Then," cried he, "your words are a lie; for the clock but marks two hours."
But the others cried in their turn, "The marks in the bowl were made to number, not hours, but days!"
But the minstrel answered them, "Nay; they were made to number the hours―the hours of the distant past; the hours that were long as days."
Then the younger among them laughed. and held it a minstrel's myth; but the elders, pondering, cried, "These words of the singer are sooth; for the days that whiten our beards are passing in greater haste than the days that lengthened our limbs!"
But the younger among them said, "The hole in the bowl is clogged; it should run twelve times as fast."
And they bored the hole in the base till the water dripped more fast―twelve drops to the former one―and numbered the hours that passed. And, wreathed in the grey of the mist that crept from the breast of the lake, the soul of the hero of old, of him who had fashioned the clock, looked down on them while they wrought and vainly it strove to speak, and tell of the truth it knew; but voice and a tongue to speak would it lack for ages to come, for never a voice or tongue would it have till its hour arrived to dwell in the flesh once more; and then, and never till then, should it tell of the truth it knew.
II.
And, behold, on a day certain men journeyed toward Egypt, and this was that land of Egypt that should thereafter be mighty exceedingly; for these were the days before the First Dynasty―yea, many thousands of years before. And, it being nigh unto the time of the setting of the sun, they happened, by adventure, upon a cavern.
