“There’s no doubt about it,” they said, “quality is what tells. You can’t expect a thing to last unless it is really well made, inside and out. Perfect workmanship will wear practically for ever.” And they held up their backs as straight as could be and curved their shapely arms and legs into the most elegant lines imaginable.
The little Chelsea flower-seller and flute-player, who stood on each side of the clock on the mantelshelf, were much kinder, and did their best to console it.
They had always been on friendly terms with it, and they used to peep round it and smile and wave to one another.
“The Fairy Queen is probably coming to see us soon,” said the flower-seller. “Perhaps she may be able to help you.”
The little clock felt happier; it would be wonderful to be introduced to the Fairy Queen, who had often been to see the Chelsea figures but had so far never taken notice of any of the other things.
You see, those two were old friends of hers. They came from Fairyland originally, but the tale went that a wicked witch had cast a spell over them which was to last for seven hundred and seventy-seven years. At the end of that time they would be able to go back to Fairyland, but meanwhile the Queen used to come and visit them now and then in order to cheer them up. Sure enough, the very next time she came, the flower-seller remembered about the little clock and told her how unhappy it was.
The Queen came and stood in front of it and stroked its face with her tiny hand and patted its pretty ormolu pillars.
Finally she sat down on the little green marble slab on which it stood, and asked it to tell her all its troubles.
And the little clock opened its heart to her and told her how miserable it was to think that it would never, never be able to tell the time again.