'And you see, Cecily, how the busy hands keep on and on, always doing their work. Look how quickly the long one gets on. It goes round ever so many times faster than the short one, and yet that is doing its work too all the time—doing its very best. But you could not expect the short hand to do as much, or in the world the little short legs to be quite as useful as the long ones.'
'The long ones like yours;' and Cecily held out a short bare leg of her own and looked at it.
'Yes, the long ones like mine;' said Willie. 'They have made many journeys, little Cecily.'
'Willie,' she asked, opening her eyes, 'how many times has the long hand gone round since you was a little boy?'
He shook his head gravely. The days of his years were past Willie's counting.
'Will you tell us all about it?' said the little maiden who had wished to be very useful.
Then all the others jumped up and echoed the petition. 'Tell us your story. Because it is New Year's Eve, Willie. Because it is the last day of the Old Year.'
Lois came and sat down beside him and begged too, and Roger leant over her chair.
'Do tell us about your life, dear old friend. We have so often wished to know.'
Willie still shook his head, but somehow the chord of memory had been touched to-night, and it was vibrating still. Perhaps because, as the children said, it was the last day of the Old Year.