Thinking to strengthen this idea, I jumped into the clock and held the door fast; but finally thinking ’twas cowardly not to face it I jumped out again, up into the chair, saying, “I am mending this old clock;” and notwithstanding her remonstrances, continued my work putting back the various pieces. When I was afraid of “giving out and giving up,” I decided I would just answer her back once and say “I wont.” The wickedness would certainly discourage her beyond a hope, and then I could finish.
So I put the moon on, staring full; in putting on the hands I got, I thought, sufficiently worked up to venture my prepared reply to her repeated “get down!”
I accordingly approached my grandmother, stopping some feet from her; bent my body half-over, my long red hair covering my eyes, and my head suiting its action to my earnestness, and in a decided rebellious tone, I spelled, “I W-O-N-T;” but accidently giving myself a turn on my heel I fell to the floor, with the pronunciation still unexpressed.
I quickly rose, though I saw stars without any “two cents,” and returned to, and finished my work. I had just put the last touch on when I heard the wheels. How I dreaded my aunt’s appearance! As she entered the door I was found “demurely rocking” to the pictures in the andirons.
My aunt thought I did not seem natural, and kissed me as being “too good, perhaps, to be well.” My grandmother tried to speak, but I interrupted:
“I must go home without my tea. I am not afraid of the dark, and I better go.”
This was another proof of indisposition to the aunt. I left the house, kissing as I thought, my grandmother into silence; but as I looked back I saw she could not utter a word without laughing at the aunt’s anxiety, and so had to put off the narration till after my departure.
I went home about as fast as possible; desired to go to bed immediately—never went before without being sent, and then not in a very good mood. My mother followed me with a talk of “herb tea,” and as I thought I must have some “end to the farce,” I agreed that a little might do me good. My mother consequently brought me, I do believe, a “Scripture measure” pint of bitter tea, which I hurriedly drank, as I knew my sisters had already started for my grandmother’s, to see how I had been through the afternoon. When they returned, though I heard the laughing and talking in the sitting-room below, I was, to all intents and purposes, sound asleep and snoring.
No allusion was ever made to my demeanor. I went to school as usual, and told the school-girls that I had had such a good time at my aunt’s the day before that I would never go there again “as long as I lived.”
My grandmother and aunt died long ago. For years I had no reason to believe that my afternoon’s tragedy was known to any one. But once, not long since, speaking of that clock, I said, “I’m glad it did not descend to me;” when a friend replied, with a very knowing look, “So is your grandmother!”