posure with which he had spoken but a few minutes before. The noisy,
familiar man, who had been an ill-bred intruder in the parlor, became
a privileged guest in the workshop, for _there_ he possessed the
all-atoning social advantage of being new to the performances of the
wonderful clock.

"At the first stroke of twelve, Mr. Midwinter," said the major, quite
eagerly, "keep your eye on the figure of Time: he will move his scythe,
and point it downward to the glass pedestal. You will next see a little
printed card appear behind the glass, which will tell you the day of
the month and the day of the week. At the last stroke of the clock, Time
will lift his scythe again into its former position, and the chimes will
ring a peal. The peal will be succeeded by the playing of a tune--the
favorite march of my old regiment--and then the final performance of the
clock will follow. The sentry-boxes, which you may observe at each
side, will both open at the same moment. In one of them you will see
the sentinel appear; and from the other a corporal and two privates will
march across the platform to relieve the guard, and will then disappear,
leaving the new sentinel at his post. I must ask your kind allowances
for this last part of the performance. The machinery is a little
complicated, and there are defects in it which I am ashamed to say
I have not yet succeeded in remedying as I could wish. Sometimes the
figures go all wrong, and sometimes they go all right. I hope they may
do their best on the occasion of your seeing them for the first time."

As the major, posted near his clock, said the last words, his little
audience of three, assembled at the opposite end of the room, saw the
hour-hand and the minute-hand on the dial point together to twelve. The
first stroke sounded, and Time, true to the signal, moved his scythe.
The day of the month and the day of the week announced themselves
in print through the glass pedestal next; Midwinter applauding their
appearance with a noisy exaggeration of surprise, which Miss Milroy
mistook for coarse sarcasm directed at her father's pursuits, and which
Allan (seeing that she was offended) attempted to moderate by touching
the elbow of his friend. Meanwhile, the performances of the clock went
on. At the last stroke of twelve, Time lifted his scythe again, the
chimes rang, the march tune of the major's old regiment followed; and
the crowning exhibition of the relief of the guard announced itself