Once upon a time, there was a wise old tortoise named Tina who lived by a peaceful riverbank. Every day, she would watch the sun sink slowly towards the west, painting the sky with beautiful colors. As she enjoyed the sunset, a group of young animals would often gather around her feet, seeking her advice on their problems.
One fine afternoon, as Tina was having her usual nap, a rabbit rattled up to her and asked, “Are you awake, dear Tina?”
“I am now,” answered Tortoise, yawning.
“I wish you would give me an answer to a question that troubles my mind.”
“With all my heart, dear rabbit,” said Tina. “What’s troubling you so much?”
“I wish to know why it is that I cannot sleep quietly in my bed at night, while all the other animals do.”
“It is simply because you are too much in a hurry to get there,” said the tortoise. “Trust me, if you would only keep on hopping your slowest instead of your fastest, you would reach home just the same, and so learn to lie down quietly, saying to yourself, ‘There’s time enough yet.’”
Tina no sooner finished speaking than a barrowboy came hurrying up on his dog-cart, so frightened and out of breath that he could hardly speak. “Oh dear Tina,” said he, “please come with me. My horse is dead lame, and won’t make an inch of way. Do do come and see what you can do, for I’m frightened to death, for fear I don’t get home in time!”
“Why, that’s an easy matter,” said the tortoise sadly, as her eyes shone like two stars in the twilight. “Just say over to yourself, slowly and gently, as you go, ‘There’s time enough yet to get home. There’s time enough yet to get home.’”
And no sooner were the words out of her mouth than a rat jumped out of the cornfield just by, crying, “Please, please, good Mrs. Tortoise! will you be so good as to tell me how it is that I never can get to sleep in my bed before all the other rats, and how it is that Mr. Fox is always there long before I come, although I always think I’m the first to go to bed? I’m so afraid I never shall go to sleep at all.”
“It is quite impossible for me to tell you how it is that Mr. Fox does go to sleep before you come, unless you will only keep saying over to yourself, ‘There’s time enough yet,’ like the other animals, and so learn to go home gently and slowly.” And just as the tortoise had said these words, a very old goose came waddling by, with her neck stretched forwards so long, that she had no neck left, and a sore bewitched eye at the end of it.
“Oh, dear me,” murmured the goose to herself, “why was I ever born so unfortunate as I am? Would that I were any other sort of animal, rat or rabbit, rather than what I am. Nothing goes so slow as I do, or makes so many stops by the way. Yes, I think I would sooner be a snail, for, after all, though they do go slow, they go on the whole day long without stopping, and for my poor tired limbs—“
“Patience, Patience, dear madam!” interrupted the tortoise, yawning again. “If ever a poor animal had need of it, it is yourself. What good does it do you, I should like to know, while you’re flying on to your journey’s end, so long as you keep up constantly crying out, ‘I’m not nearly there! I’m not nearly there!’ Why did you never think to say to yourself, like the others, ‘There’s time enough yet!’”
So although the old goose did nothing but keep on saying “There is time enough yet,” and “Eyes before carriages,” she too reached home by daybreak, although it was on the other side of the bridge from Tina the tortoise.