"I'll send one of the children round to say you're ill. They'll surely
let you off for a day or two."

"Tain't no use; they won't wait; I know them--what does Grinder Bros
care if I'm ill? Never mind, mother, I'll rise above 'em all yet. _Give
me the clock_, mother."

She gave him the clock, and he proceeded to wind it up and set the
alarm.

"There's somethin' wrong with the gong," he muttered, "it's gone wrong
two nights now, but I'll chance it. I'll set the alarm at five, that'll
give me time to dress and git there early. I wish I hadn't to walk so
far."

He paused to read some words engraved round the dial:

Early to bed and early to rise
Makes a man healthy and wealthy and wise.

He had read the verse often before, and was much taken with the swing
and rhythm of it. He had repeated it to himself, over and over again,
without reference to the sense or philosophy of it. He had never dreamed
of doubting anything in print--and this was engraved. But now a new
light seemed to dawn upon him. He studied the sentence awhile, and then
read it aloud for the second time. He turned it over in his mind again
in silence.

"Mother!" he said suddenly, "I think it lies." She placed the clock on
the shelf, tucked him into his little bed on the sofa, and blew out the
light.

Arvie seemed to sleep, but she lay awake thinking of her troubles. Of
her husband carried home dead from his work one morning; of her eldest
son who only came to loaf on her when he was out of jail; of the second
son, who had feathered his nest in another city, and had no use for her
any longer; of the next--poor delicate little Arvie--struggling manfully
to help, and wearing his young life out at Grinder Bros when he should
be at school; of the five helpless younger children asleep in the next
room: of her hard life--scrubbing floors from half-past five till
eight, and then starting her day's work--washing!--of having to rear her
children in the atmosphere of the slums, because she could not afford to
move and pay a higher rent; and of the rent.

Arvie commenced to mutter in his sleep.

"Can't you get to sleep, Arvie?" she asked. "Is your throat sore? Can I
get anything for you?"

"I'd like to sleep," he muttered, dreamily, "but it won't seem more'n a
moment before--before--"

"Before what, Arvie?" she asked, quickly, fearing that he was becoming
delirious.

"Before the alarm goes off!"

He was talking in his sleep.

She rose gent