"At four o'clock. Now, be quiet, Marjorie, and don't ask any more questions."
"No'm. But, Mother, mayn't I get up now? I've been here nearly six or seven hours."
"It isn't six or seven minutes, yet. You must stay there half an hour, so you may as well make your mind up to it."
"Yes'm; I've made up my mind. But I think this clock has stopped. It hasn't moved but a teenty, taunty speck in all these hours. What time is it by your clock, Mother?"
"Marjorie! You'll drive me distracted! Will you be still?"
"Yes'm, if you'll let me come in your room. May I, Mother? I'll just lie still on your couch, and I won't speak. I'll just look at you. You know you're so pretty, Mother."
Mrs. Maynard stifled a laugh.
"Come on, then," she called. "I simply can't yell like this any longer."
"I should think not," said Marjorie, as she appeared in her mother's doorway. "My throat's exhausted, too."
"Now, remember," said Mrs. Maynard, "you said you'd be quiet in here. Lie down on the couch, and put the afghan over you, and go to sleep."