heel isn't on the pawl prop'ly--not like what this book
says it ought to be. Seems we've got to take it all to pieces to get
it right. Seems to me the person wot made this clock didn't know much
about clock-making. Seems to me----"

"Be _quiet_, William!"

"We was be quietin' 'fore you came in," said Jimmy, severely. "You
'sturbed us."

"Leave it just as it is, William," said his mother.

"You don't _unnerstand_," said William with the excitement of the
fanatic. "The cog-wheel an' the ratchet ought to be put on the arbor
different. See, this is the cog-wheel. Well, it oughtn't to be like
wot it was. It was put on all _wrong_. Well, we was mendin' it. An' we
was doin' it for _you_," he ended, bitterly, "jus' to help an'--to--to
make other folks happy. It makes folks happy havin' clocks goin'
right, anyone would _think_. But if you _want_ your clocks put
together wrong, _I_ don't care."

He picked up his book and walked proudly from the room followed by the
admiring Jimmy.

"William," said Aunt Lucy patiently, as he passed, "I don't want to
say anything unkind, and I hope you won't remember all your life that
you have completely spoilt this Christmas Day for me."

"Oh, dear!" murmured Aunt Jane, sadly.

William, with a look before which she should have sunk into the earth,
answered shortly that he didn't think he would.

During the midday dinner the grown-ups, as is the foolish fashion of
grown-ups, wasted much valuable time in the discussion of such
futilities as the weather and the political state of the nation. Aunt
Lucy was still suffering and aggrieved.

"I can go this evening, of course," she said, "but it's not quite the
same. The morning service is different. Yes, please, dear--_and_
stuffing. Yes, I'll have a little more turkey, too. And, of course,
the vicar may not preach to-night. That makes such a difference. The
gravy on the potatoes, please. It's almost the first Christmas I've
not been in the morning. It seems quite to have spoilt the day for
me."

She bent on William a glance of gentle reproach. William was quite
capable of meeting adequately that or any other glance, but at present
he was too busy for minor hostilities. He was _extremely_ busy. He was
doing his utmost to do full justice to a meal that only happens once a
year.

"William," said Barbara pleasantly, "I can _dweam_. Can you?"

He made no answer.

"Answer your cousin, William," said his mother.

He swallowed, then spoke p