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rode divinely, and Edgar was delighted to supply her with divine horses to ride. He did not very often in London accompany her himself, for after being up till the small hours began to grow large, he did not feel inclined to tackle the middle-sized hours again, but preferred that they should pass over his head like a troop of ministering angels while he slept. But Lucia, to whatever hour she might have been dancing, was always ready to be up again by eight, and usually began the day by a gallop in the Park. Sometimes Maud rode with her, sometimes Charlie, occasionally both. On this particular morning, half-way through July, it was Charlie for whom, so it turned out, she waited by the Alexandra Gate.

"Oh, you are late, Charlie," she called to him. "Don't try to excuse yourself; there is no clock. Did you ever see a more heavenly day? How hot it is going to be, and in three minutes how hot you are going to be!"

"Morning, Lucia," said he. "How long did you sleep last night?"

"I never know the time. And what is the use of knowing at what hour by the clock you go to bed or get up? People invented watches, and then became slaves to them, so that they get up and go to bed or have their meals when watches and clocks point to a certain hour. I go to bed when I am tired of being up. I get up—yes, I suppose I have to mention the hour. But it isn't the hour that matters; it is to see the young day that matters. Oh, don't talk so much. Only birds are fit to talk early in the morning, because they just sing in gratitude for the nice big worm they have swallowed. Charlie, let's go and drink the dew and eat a few worms, and then sing till evening. Then more worms, and you tuck your head under your wing—have you got a wing? mine are sprouting—and go to sleep again. Yes, don't talk so much. We will gallop up to