at do you believe?"

The Little Red Doctor, who prides himself on being a hard-bitted
materialist, glared at me as injuriously as if my innocent question had
been an insult.

"I don't believe it!" he averred violently. "Do you take me for a
sentimental idiot that I should pin silly labels on my old friend,
Death?" His expression underwent a curious change. "But I never saw such
joy on any living face," he muttered under his breath.

* * * * *

The House of Silvery Voices is silent now. But its echo still lives and
makes music in Our Square. For, with the proceeds of Stepfather Time's
clocks, an astounding total, we have built a miniature clock tower
facing Number 37, with a silvery voice of its own, for memory. The
Bonnie Lassie designed the tower, and because there is love and
understanding in all that the Bonnie Lassie sets her wonder-working hand
to, it is as beautiful as it is simple. Among ourselves we call it the
Tower of the Two Faithful Hearts.

The silvery voice within it is the product of a paragon among
timepieces, a most superior instrument, of unimpeachable construction
and great cost. But it has one invincible peculiarity, the despair of
the best consulting experts who have been called in to remedy it and,
one and all, have failed for reasons which they cannot fathom. How
should they!

It never keeps time.

HOME-SEEKERS' GOAL

Long ago I made an important discovery. It comes under the general head
of statics and is this: by occupying an invariable bench in Our Square,
looking venerable and contemplative and indigenous, as if you had grown
up in that selfsame spot, you will draw people to come to you for
information, and they will frequently give more than they get of it.
Such, I am informed, is the method whereby the flytrap orchid achieves a
satisfying meal. Not that I seek to claim for myself the colorful
splendors of the Cypripedium, being only a tired old pedagogue with a
taste for the sunlight and for observing the human bubbles that float
and bob on the current in our remote eddy of life. Nevertheless, I can
follow a worthy example, even though the exemplar be only a carnivorous
bloom. And, I may confess, on the afternoon of October 1st, I was in a
receptive mood for such flies of information as might come to me
concerning two large invading vans which had rumbled into our quiet
precincts and, after a pause for inquiry, stopped before the Mordaunt
Estate'