g
of a pendulum.

"Boy, boy," said he, returning to his chair, "think' o' that
complaining, immovable heap lying there like the blood of a murder.
An' thy reader must feel the toil an' sweat an' misery an' despair
that is in a great sum, an' how it all presses on the heart o' him
that gets it wrongfully.

"'Well, sor,' the poor fellow continued, 'now an' then I met those
had known me, an' reports o' me poverty went home. An' those dear
to me sent money, the sight o' which filled me with a mighty
sickness, an' I sent it back to them. Long ago, thank God! they
ceased to think me a thief, but only crazy. Tell me, man, what
shall I do with the money? There be those living I have to
consider, an' those dead, an' those unborn.'

"'Hide it,' said I, 'an' go to thy work an' God give thee counsel.'"

Man and boy rose from the table and drew up to the little stove.

"Now, boy," said the clock tinker, leaning toward him with knitted
brows, "consider this poor thief who suffered so for his friends.
Think o' these good words, 'Greater love hath no man than this,
that he lay down his life for his friends.' If thou should'st ever
write of it, thy problem will be to reckon the good an' evil, an'
give each a careful estimate an' him his proper rank!"

"What a sad tale!" said the boy, thoughtfully. "It's terrible to
think he may be my father."

"I'd have no worry o' that, sor," said the clock tinker. "There be
ten thousand--ay, more--who know not their fathers. An', moreover,
'twas long, long ago."

"Please tell me when was the boy taken," said Trove.

"Time, or name, or place, I cannot tell thee, lest I betray him,"
said the old man, "Neither is necessary to thy tale. Keep it with
thee a while; thou art young yet an' close inshore. Wait until ye
sound the further deep. Then, sor, write, if God give thee power,
and think chiefly o' them in peril an' about to dash their feet
upon the stones."

For a moment the clocks' ticking was like the voice of many ripples
washing the shore of the Infinite. A new life had begun for Trove,
and they were cutting it into seconds. He looked up at them and
rose quickly and stood a moment, his thumb on the door-latch.
Outside they could hear the rush and scatter of the snow.

"Poor youth!" said the old man. "Thou hast no coat--take mine.
Take it, I say. It will give thee comfort an' me happiness."

He would hear no refusal, and again the coat changed owners, giving
happiness