"Well," she began, "I'll say my say an' done with it. There's goin' to be a town-meetin' to-night, an' Nicholas sent me over to mention it. 'Father'll want to be on hand,' says he."
Mr. Oldfield pushed back his cup, and then his chair. He bent his keen blue eyes upon her.
"Town meetin' this time o' year?" said he. "What for?"
"Oh, it's about the celebration. Old Mr. Eaton"—
"What Eaton?"
"William W."
"He that went away in war time, an' made money in wool? Old War-Wool Eaton?"
Nicholas nodded, at her assent, and his look blackened. He knew what was coming.
"Well, he sent word he meant to give us a clock, same as he had other towns, an' he wanted we should have it up before the celebration."
"Yes," said Nicholas Oldfield, "he'll give us a clock, will he? I knew he would. I've said 'twas comin'. He give one to Saltash; he's gi'n 'em all over the county. Do you know what them clocks be? They've got letters round the dial, in place o' figgers; an' the letters spell out, 'In Memory of Me.' An' down to Saltash they've gi'n up sayin' it's quarter arter twelve, or the like o' that. They say it's O minutes past I."