her
own--called, I think, Mother. At any rate, she was fond of it and
refused to throw it away.

"And it's got an alarm, so it goes in her bedroom," said Celia, "and
Muriel goes into the kitchen. Jane loves it, because she comes from the
country, and the cuckoo reminds her of home. That still leaves John
eating his head off."

"And, moreover, showing people what happens to it," I added severely. (I
think I have already mentioned John's foible.)

"Well, there's only one thing for it; he must go under the spare-room
bed."

I tried to imagine John under the spare-room bed.

"Suppose," I said, "we had a nervous visitor ... and she looked under
the bed before getting into it ... and saw John.... It is a terrible
thought, Celia."

However, that is where he is. It is a lonely life for him, but we shall
wind him up every week, and he will think that he is being of service to
us. Indeed, he probably imagines that our guests prefer to sleep under
the bed.

Now, with John at last arranged for, our family should have been happy;
but three days ago I discovered that it was William who was going to be
the real trouble. To think of William, the pride of the flock, betraying
us!

As you may remember, William lives with me. He presides over the room we
call "the library" to visitors and "the master's room" to Jane. He
smiles at me when I work. Ordinarily, when I want to know the time, I
look at my watch; but the other morning I happened to glance at William.
He said "twenty minutes past seven." As I am never at work as early as
that, and as my watch said eleven-thirty, I guessed at once that William
had stopped. In the evening--having by that time found the key--I went
to wind him up. To my surprise he said "six-twenty-five." I put my ear
to his chest and heard his gentle breathing. He was alive and going
well. With a murmured apology I set him to the right time ... and by the
morning he was three-quarters of an hour fast.

Unlike John, William is reticent to a degree. With great difficulty I
found my way to his insides, and then found that he had practically none
to speak of at all. Certainly he had no regulator.

"What shall we do?" I asked Celia.

"Leave him. And then, when you bring your guests in for a smoke, you can
say, 'Oh, don't go yet; this clock is five hours and twenty-three
minutes fast.'"

"Or six hours and thirty-seven minutes slow. I wonder which would sound
better. Anyhow, he is much too beautiful to go