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Late at night in late December a long time ago, a man stepped off a train in d strange town. It was New Year’s Eve and he was sad for he was far from home. He: thought of his friends gathered together so rriany miles away and he was sadder still. There were no cabs, so picking up his heavy bag, he began to walk the few blocks to his hotel. As he reached the court house square he heard the bell in the tower still vibrating from the last stroke of midnight. It was one minute past twelve. * - Vr
“Happy New Year,” said an old man who was locking up a shop. “Happy New Year to you,” the traveler replied. “But you are not happy,” said the old man. “No,” answered the traveler, “I am not happy. It is one minute past twelve and I am a year nearer the grave. Time moves faster and faster and a man can never catch it. I must even travel on business on the New Year.”
And the traveler shed a tear in self-pity.
“Time does not move,” said the old man. “We move through time. But we generally move in the wrong direction.” The old man put the key in his pocket. “What do you do to move in the nght direction?” he asked. “Why,” said the traveler, “I support my family.”
“So does a robin, and sings besides,” the old' man said. “The way to move in the right direction is to act always as if this were to be your last day on earth.” And the old man was gone.
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