On the morning of the tenth, Billy, Marie, and Aunt Hannah were once more sewing together, this time in the little sitting-room at the end of the hall up-stairs.

Billy's fingers, in particular, were flying very fast.

"I told John to have Peggy at the door at eleven," she said, after a time; "but I think I can finish running in this ribbon before then. I haven't much to do to get ready to go."

"I hope Kate's train won't be late," worried Aunt Hannah.

"I hope not," replied Billy; "but I told Rosa to delay luncheon, anyway, till we get here. I--" She stopped abruptly and turned a listening ear toward the door of Aunt Hannah's room, which was open. A clock was striking. "Mercy! that can't be eleven now," she cried. "But it must be--it was ten before I came up-stairs." She got to her feet hurriedly.

Aunt Hannah put out a restraining hand.

"No, no, dear, that's half-past ten."

"But it struck eleven."

"Yes, I know. It does--at half-past ten."

"Why, the little wretch," laughed Billy, dropping back into her chair and picking up her work again. "The idea of its telling fibs like that and frightening people half out of their lives! I'll have it fixed right away. Maybe John can do it--he's always so handy about such things."

"But I don't want it fixed," demurred Aunt Hannah.

Billy stared a little.

"You don't want it fixed! Maybe you like to have it strike eleven when it's half-past ten!" Billy's voice was merrily sarcastic.

"Y-yes, I do," stammered the lady, apologetically. "You see, I--I worked very hard to fix it so it would strike that way."

"_Aunt Hannah!_"

"Well, I did," retorted the lady, with unexpected spirit. "I wanted to know what time it was in the night--I'm awake such a lot."

"But I don't see." Billy's eyes were perplexed. "Why must you make it tell fibs in order to--to find out the truth?" she laughed.

Aunt Hannah elevated her chin a little.

"Because that clock was always striking one."

"One!"

"Yes--half-past, you know; and I never knew which half-past it was."

"But it must strike half-past now, just the same!"

"It does." There was the triumphant ring of the conqueror in Aunt Hannah's voice. "But now it strikes half-past _on the hour_, and the clock in the hall tells me _then_ what time it is, so I don't care."

For one more brief minute Billy stared, before a sudden light of understanding illumined her face. Then her laugh rang out gleefully.

"Oh, Aunt Hannah, Aunt Hannah," she gurgled. "If Bertram wouldn't call you the limit--making a clock strike eleven so you'll know it's half-past ten!"

Aunt Hannah colored a little, but she stood her ground.

"Well, there's only half an hour, anyway, now, that I don't know what time it is," she maintained, "for one or the other of those clocks strikes the hour every thirty minutes. Even during those never-ending three ones that strike one after the other in the middle of the night, I can tell now, for the hall clock has a different sound for the half-hours, you know, so I can tell whether it's one or a half-past."

"Of course," chuckled Billy.

"I'm sure I think it's a splendid idea," chimed in Marie, valiantly; "and I'm going to write it to mother's Cousin Jane right away. She's an invalid, and she's always lying awake nights wondering what time it is.

The doctor says actually he believes she'd get well if he could find some way of letting her know the time at night, so she'd get some sleep; for she simply can't go to sleep till she knows. She can't bear a light in the room, and it wakes her all up to turn an electric switch, or anything of that kind."

"Why doesn't she have one of those phosphorous things?" questioned Billy.

Marie laughed quietly.

"She did. I sent her one,--and she stood it just one night."

"Stood it!"

"Yes. She declared it gave her the creeps, and that she wouldn't have the spooky thing staring at her all night like that. So it's got to be something she can hear, and I'm going to tell her Mrs. Stetson's plan right away."

"Well, I'm sure I wish you would," cried that lady, with prompt interest; "and she'll like it, I'm sure. And tell her if she can hear a _town_ clock strike, it's just the same, and even better; for there aren't any half-hours at all to think of there."

"I will--and I think it's lovely," declared Marie.

"Of course it's lovely," smiled Billy, rising; "but I fancy I'd better go and get ready to meet Mrs. Hartwell, or the 'lovely' thing will be telling me that it's half-past eleven!" And she tripped laughingly from the room.

Promptly at the appointed time John with Peggy drew up before the door, and Billy, m.u.f.fled in furs, stepped into the car, which, with its protecting top and sides and gla.s.s wind-shield, was in its winter dress.

"Yes'm, 'tis a little chilly, Miss," said John, in answer to her greeting, as he tucked the heavy robes about her.

"Oh, well, I shall be very comfortable, I'm sure," smiled Billy. "Just don't drive too rapidly, specially coming home. I shall have to get a limousine, I think, when my ship comes in, John."

John's grizzled old face twitched. So evident were the words that were not spoken that Billy asked laughingly:

"Well, John, what is it?"

John reddened furiously.

"Nothing, Miss. I was only thinkin' that if you didn't 'tend ter haulin'

in so many other folks's ships, yours might get in sooner."

"Why, John! Nonsense! I--I love to haul in other folks's ships," laughed the girl, embarra.s.sedly.

"Yes, Miss; I know you do," grunted John.

Billy colored.

"No, no--that is, I mean--I don't do it--very much," she stammered.

John did not answer apparently; but Billy was sure she caught a low-muttered, indignant "much!" as he snapped the door shut and took his place at the wheel.