s,--water-wheels, curious doorlocks and
latches, thermometers, hygrometers, pyrometers, clocks, a barometer, an
automatic contrivance for feeding the horses at any required hour, a
lamp-lighter and fire-lighter, an early-or-late-rising machine, and so
forth.

After the sawmill was proved and discharged from my mind, I happened
to think it would be a fine thing to make a timekeeper which would
tell the day of the week and the day of the month, as well as strike
like a common clock and point out the hours; also to have an
attachment whereby it could be connected with a bedstead to set me on
my feet at any hour in the morning; also to start fires, light lamps,
etc. I had learned the time laws of the pendulum from a book, but with
this exception I knew nothing of timekeepers, for I had never seen the
inside of any sort of clock or watch. After long brooding, the novel
clock was at length completed in my mind, and was tried and found to
be durable and to work well and look well before I had begun to build
it in wood. I carried small parts of it in my pocket to whittle at
when I was out at work on the farm, using every spare or stolen moment
within reach without father's knowing anything about it. In the middle
of summer, when harvesting was in progress, the novel time-machine was
nearly completed. It was hidden upstairs in a spare bedroom where
some tools were kept. I did the making and mending on the farm, but
one day at noon, when I happened to be away, father went upstairs for
a hammer or something and discovered the mysterious machine back of
the bedstead. My sister Margaret saw him on his knees examining it,
and at the first opportunity whispered in my ear, "John, fayther saw
that thing you're making upstairs." None of the family knew what I was
doing, but they knew very well that all such work was frowned on by
father, and kindly warned me of any danger that threatened my plans.
The fine invention seemed doomed to destruction before its
time-ticking commenced, though I thought it handsome, had so long
carried it in my mind, and like the nest of Burns's wee mousie it had
cost me mony a weary whittling nibble. When we were at dinner several
days after the sad discovery, father began to clear his throat to
speak, and I feared the doom of martyrdom was about to be pronounced
on my grand clock.

"John," he inquired, "what is that thing you are making upstairs?"

I replied in desperation that I didn't know what to call it