Asher stared about him, and then saw that the tiny figure which first gazed at him from the keyhole was now squatted, nursing its knees, upon his lanthorn, and gazing fixedly at him.
“They wouldn’t vanish, Asher,” said the tiny figure; “and here they come.”
As it finished speaking, the little spirits came trooping towards Asher, and dragged out of his pocket a small key, which opened a padlock, and loosened a chain, and set at liberty the key of the great timepiece; for Asher was determined that no other hands should touch his clock, as he called it; but now he saw a couple of score of little figures seize the key, fit it in the hole, and then toil at it till they turned it round and round, and wound up first one and then the other weight.
“How much longer?” cried the little spirit upon the lanthorn.
“One hour,” cried all the other spirits in chorus; and the two words seemed to ring in Asher’s ears, and then go buzzing round the place, and even up and amongst the bells, so that there was a sort of dumb pealing echo of the words.
“‘One hour,’” cried Asher, at length; “what’s ‘one hour’?”
“One hour more for you,” said the little spirit, staring unwinkingly, with its little diamond eyes fixed upon Asher, while its mite of a chin rested upon its little bare knees.
“What do you mean,” said Asher, fiercely, “with your one more hour?” and then he tried to get up, but could not, for he found that a number of the little figures had busily tied him with the bell-ropes; and there he was fast, hand and foot.
“What do I mean?” said the little figure; “lie still, and I’ll tell you, Asher. I mean that your time’s nearly up, and that you have now only fifty-six minutes left.”
“It must be the strong ale,” muttered Asher, turning hot all over, after vainly trying to loosen his bands. “It must be the strong ale; but I think, perhaps, I’ll let Mrs Bond stay another week.”