eight in the morning
Heaven save me from growing wise ! And I will mumble the same to my last turn : Heaven save me from growing wise ! * * * * * Just cold enough now for a little outing I have had in mind : the snow-peaks lie rosy in the sun , and my copper saucepan points to fair . It is eight in the morning . Knapsack and a good stock of food , an extra lashing in my pocket in case anything should break , and a note on the table for the man with supplies in case he should come up while I am away . Oh , but I have been showing off nicely all to myself : pretending I was going far , and needed to equip myself with care , had occasion for all my presence of mind and endurance . A man can show off like that when he is going far ; but I am not .