CHAPTER XI. A CLOCK AND AUNT HANNAH
Mrs. Kate Hartwell, the Henshaw brothers' sister from the West, wasexpected on the tenth. Her husband could not come, she had written, butshe would bring with her, little Kate, the youngest child. The boys,Paul and Egbert, would stay with their father.
Billy received the news of little Kate's coming with outspoken delight.
"The very thing!" she cried. "We'll have her for a flower girl. She wasa dear little creature, as I remember her."
Aunt Hannah gave a sudden low laugh.
"Yes, I remember," she observed. "Kate told me, after you spent thefirst day with her, that you graciously informed her that littleKate was almost as nice as Spunk. Kate did not fully appreciate thecompliment, I fear."
Billy made a wry face.
"Did I say that? Dear me! I _was_ a terror in those days, wasn't I?But then," and she laughed softly, "really, Aunt Hannah, that was theprettiest thing I knew how to say, for I considered Spunk the top-notchof desirability."
"I think I should have liked to know Spunk," smiled Marie from the otherside of the sewing table.
"He was a dear," declared Billy. "I had another 'most as good when Ifirst came to Hillside, but he got lost. For a time it seemed as if Inever wanted another, but I've about come to the conclusion now that Ido, and I've told Bertram to find one for me if he can. You see Ishall be lonesome after you're gone, Marie, and I'll have to have_something_," she finished mischievously.
"Oh, I don't mind the inference--as long as I know your admiration ofcats," laughed Marie.
"Let me see; Kate writes she is coming the tenth," murmured Aunt Hannah,going back to the letter in her hand.
"Good!" nodded Billy. "That will give time to put little Kate throughher paces as flower girl."
"Yes, and it will give Big Kate time to _try_ to make your breakfast asupper, and your roses pinks--or sunflowers," cut in a new voice, dryly.
"Cyril!" chorussed the three ladies in horror, adoration, andamusement--according to whether the voice belonged to Aunt Hannah,Marie, or Billy.
Cyril shrugged his shoulders and smiled.
"I beg your pardon," he apologized; "but Rosa said you were in heresewing, and I told her not to bother. I'd announce myself. Just as Igot to the door I chanced to hear Billy's speech, and I couldn'tresist making the amendment. Maybe you've forgotten Kate's love ofmanaging--but I haven't," he finished, as he sauntered over to the chairnearest Marie.
"No, I haven't--forgotten," observed Billy, meaningly.
"Nor I--nor anybody else," declared a severe voice--both the words andthe severity being most extraordinary as coming from the usually gentleAunt Hannah.
"Oh, well, never mind," spoke up Billy, quickly. "Everything's all rightnow, so let's forget it. She always meant it for kindness, I'm sure."
"Even when she told you in the first place what a--er--torment you wereto us?" quizzed Cyril.
"Yes," flashed Billy. "She was being kind to _you_, then."
"Humph!" vouchsafed Cyril.
For a moment no one spoke. Cyril's eyes were on Marie, who was nervouslytrying to smooth back a few fluffy wisps of hair that had escaped fromrestraining combs and pins.
"What's the matter with the hair, little girl?" asked Cyril in avoice that was caressingly irritable. "You've been fussing with thatlong-suffering curl for the last five minutes!"
Marie's delicate face flushed painfully.
"It's got loose--my hair," she stammered, "and it looks so dowdy thatway!"
Billy dropped her thread suddenly. She sprang for it at once, beforeCyril could make a move to get it. She had to dive far under a chairto capture it--which may explain why her face was so very red when shefinally reached her seat again.
On the morning of the tenth, Billy, Marie, and Aunt Hannah were oncemore sewing together, this time in the little sitting-room at the end ofthe hall up-stairs.
Billy's fingers, in particular, were flying very fast.
"I told John to have Peggy at the door at eleven," she said, after atime; "but I think I can finish running in this ribbon before then. Ihaven't much to do to get ready to go."
"I hope Kate's train won't be late," worried Aunt Hannah.
"I hope not," replied Billy; "but I told Rosa to delay luncheon, anyway,till we get here. I--" She stopped abruptly and turned a listeningear toward the door of Aunt Hannah's room, which was open. A clock wasstriking. "Mercy! that can't be eleven now," she cried. "But it mustbe--it was ten before I came up-stairs." She got to her feet hurriedly.
Aunt Hannah put out a restraining hand.
"No, no, dear, that's half-past ten."
"But it struck eleven."
"Yes, I know. It does--at half-past ten."
"Why, the little wretch," laughed Billy, dropping back into her chairand picking up her work again. "The idea of its telling fibs like thatand frightening people half out of their lives! I'll have it fixed rightaway. Maybe John can do it--he's always so handy about such things."
"But I don't want it fixed," demurred Aunt Hannah.
Billy stared a little.
"You don't want it fixed! Maybe you like to have it strike eleven whenit's half-past ten!" Billy's voice was merrily sarcastic.
"Y-yes, I do," stammered the lady, apologetically. "You see, I--I workedvery hard to fix it so it would strike that way."
"_Aunt Hannah!_"
"Well, I did," retorted the lady, with unexpected spirit. "I wanted toknow what time it was in the night--I'm awake such a lot."
"But I don't see." Billy's eyes were perplexed. "Why must you make ittell fibs in order to--to find out the truth?" she laughed.
Aunt Hannah elevated her chin a little.
"Because that clock was always striking one."
"One!"
"Yes--half-past, you know; and I never knew which half-past it was."
"But it must strike half-past now, just the same!"
"It does." There was the triumphant ring of the conqueror in AuntHannah's voice. "But now it strikes half-past _on the hour_, and theclock 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 ofunderstanding illumined her face. Then her laugh rang out gleefully.
"Oh, Aunt Hannah, Aunt Hannah," she gurgled. "If Bertram wouldn'tcall you the limit--making a clock strike eleven so you'll know it'shalf-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 whattime it is," she maintained, "for one or the other of those clocksstrikes the hour every thirty minutes. Even during those never-endingthree 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 thehalf-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 aninvalid, 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 findsome 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 lightin the room, and it wakes her all up to turn an electric switch, oranything of that kind."
"Why doesn't she have one of those phosphorous things?" questionedBilly.
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 havethe spooky thing staring at her all night like that. So it's got to besomething she can hear, and I'm going to tell her Mrs. Stetson's planright away."
"Well, I'm sure I wish you would," cried that lady, with promptinterest; "and she'll like it, I'm sure. And tell her if she can heara _town_ clock strike, it's just the same, and even better; for therearen't any half-hou
rs 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 bettergo and get ready to meet Mrs. Hartwell, or the 'lovely' thing will betelling me that it's half-past eleven!" And she tripped laughingly fromthe room.
Promptly at the appointed time John with Peggy drew up before thedoor, and Billy, muffled in furs, stepped into the car, which, with itsprotecting top and sides and glass wind-shield, was in its winter dress.
"Yes'm, 'tis a little chilly, Miss," said John, in answer to hergreeting, as he tucked the heavy robes about her.
"Oh, well, I shall be very comfortable, I'm sure," smiled Billy. "Justdon't drive too rapidly, specially coming home. I shall have to get alimousine, I think, when my ship comes in, John."
John's grizzled old face twitched. So evident were the words that werenot spoken that Billy asked laughingly:
"Well, John, what is it?"
John reddened furiously.
"Nothing, Miss. I was only thinkin' that if you didn't 'tend ter haulin'in so many other folks's ships, yours might get in sooner."
"Why, John! Nonsense! I--I love to haul in other folks's ships," laughedthe girl, embarrassedly.
"Yes, Miss; I know you do," grunted John.
Billy colored.
"No, no--that is, I mean--I don't do it--very much," she stammered.
John did not answer apparently; but Billy was sure she caught alow-muttered, indignant "much!" as he snapped the door shut and took hisplace at the wheel.
To herself she laughed softly. She thought she possessed the secret nowof some of John's disapproving glances toward her humble guests of thesummer before.
Miss Billy's Decision Page 11
