“Aunt Hannah!”
“Well, I did,” retorted the lady, with unexpected spirit. “I wanted to know what time it was in the night—I'm awake such a lot.”
“But I don't see.” Billy's eyes were perplexed. “Why must you make it tell fibs in order to—to find out the truth?” she laughed.
Aunt Hannah elevated her chin a little.
“Because that clock was always striking one.”
“One!”
“Yes—half-past, you know; and I never knew which half-past it was.”
“But it must strike half-past now, just the same!”
“It does.” There was the triumphant ring of the conqueror in Aunt Hannah's voice. “But now it strikes half-past on the hour, and the clock in the hall tells me then what time it is, so I don't care.”
For one more brief minute Billy stared, before a sudden light of understanding illumined her face. Then her laugh rang out gleefully.