The little-grandmother's eyes opened wide and blue with astonishment.
"Yes," she said, "but the clock hasn't gone for forty years!"
"Oh, great!" exclaimed Stanton. "Then won't you please—please—I tell you it's a case of life or death—won't you please go right upstairs and sit down in that extra big chair—and not say a word or anything but just wait till I come? And of course," he said, "it wouldn't be good for you to run upstairs, but if you could hurry just a little I should be so much obliged."
As soon as he dared, he followed cautiously up the unfamiliar stairs, and peered inquisitively through the illuminating crack of a loosely closed door.
The grandmother as he remembered her was dressed in some funny sort of a dullish purple, but peeping out from the edge of one of the chairs he caught an unmistakable flutter of blue.
Catching his breath he tapped gently on the woodwork.
Round the big winged arm of the chair a wonderful, bright aureole of hair showed suddenly.
"Come in," faltered Molly's perplexed voice.
All muffled up in his great fur-coat he pushed the door wide open and entered boldly.