the
clock in the hall tells me _then_ what time it is, so I don't care."

For one more brief minute Billy stared, before a sudden light of
understanding illumined her face. Then her laugh rang out gleefully.

"Oh, Aunt Hannah, Aunt Hannah," she gurgled. "If Bertram wouldn't
call you the limit--making a clock strike eleven so you'll know it's
half-past ten!"

Aunt Hannah colored a little, but she stood her ground.

"Well, there's only half an hour, anyway, now, that I don't know what
time it is," she maintained, "for one or the other of those clocks
strikes the hour every thirty minutes. Even during those never-ending
three ones that strike one after the other in the middle of the night,
I can tell now, for the hall clock has a different sound for the
half-hours, you know, so I can tell whether it's one or a half-past."

"Of course," chuckled Billy.

"I'm sure I think it's a splendid idea," chimed in Marie, valiantly;
"and I'm going to write it to mother's Cousin Jane right away. She's an
invalid, and she's always lying awake nights wondering what time it is.
The doctor says actually he believes she'd get well if he could find
some way of letting her know the time at night, so she'd get some sleep;
for she simply can't go to sleep till she knows. She can't bear a light
in the room, and it wakes her all up to turn an electric switch, or
anything of that kind."

"Why doesn't she have one of those phosphorous things?" questioned
Billy.

Marie laughed quietly.

"She did. I sent her one,--and she stood it just one night."

"Stood it!"

"Yes. She declared it gave her the creeps, and that she wouldn't have
the spooky thing staring at her all night like that. So it's got to be
something she can hear, and I'm going to tell her Mrs. Stetson's plan
right away."

"Well, I'm sure I wish you would," cried that lady, with prompt
interest; "and she'll like it, I'm sure. And tell her if she can hear
a _town_ clock strike, it's just the same, and even better; for there
aren't any half-hours at all to think of there."

"I will--and I think it's lovely," declared Marie.

"Of course it's lovely," smiled Billy, rising; "but I fancy I'd better
go and get ready to meet Mrs. Hartwell, or the 'lovely' thing will be
telling me that it's half-past eleven!" And she tripped laughingly from
the room.

Promptly at the appointed time John with Peggy drew up before the
door, and Billy, muffled in furs, stepped into the car, which, wit