.

"Almost. You could also see the clock at Berne while you were about
it--a clever mechanism made by the Swiss in 1527. Berne, as you
doubtless know, if you have faithfully studied your geography, took its
name from the word _baeren_, meaning bears; and you know, too, how it
came about that the Swiss selected that name for it. In all the shops
you will find large and small bears for sale, all carved from wood and
converted to every imaginable purpose."

"And the clock--has it bears too?"

"It certainly has. Three minutes before the hour a cock gives warning of
the time by crowing and flapping its carved wings. Then out comes a
procession of bears that march solemnly round a bearded Father Time,
whereupon the cock crows again, and a jester, hammer in hand, strikes a
bell. At the sound the bearded old man raises his sceptre, opens his
mouth, and turns an hourglass. And at each stroke of the bell a bear
nods his head. All this done, the cock crows again and the fantastic
pantomime is finished.

"You therefore can see how it came about that when the nobles and the
rich began to wish to have clocks of their own, in order to save the
trouble of sending their servants to the public square to find out all
the big clocks had to tell, clockmakers felt they must give them at
least some of the things to which they had become accustomed, and
therefore made clocks showing the sun, moon, stars, or tides, or those
that would play tunes on miniature chimes of six or eight bells. It was
all a relic of the past. Possibly, too, clockmakers were curious to see
what they could do in more limited space. Be this as it may, musical
clocks died hard. The old bracket clock we have just sent home, you will
recall, played seven different tunes. Purchasers liked the notion of
having music to mark the hours. Later on, however, when they became
better educated, the frivolous little tinkling jigs and dances gave
place to a more dignified and sonorous striking of a single rich-toned
bell, or a group of such bells, and resulted in the Westminster chimes
or others not unlike them."

"The little tunes were mighty jolly though," observed Christopher, with
evident regret.

"Very jolly indeed. Nevertheless one tired of them sooner than of the
graver notes. I think I told you how, when Richard Parsons' clock made
its first appearance here in the shop, everybody within hearing distance
dropped his work and came running to listen to its music. The men we