“It’s half-past nine o’clock now.”
Lucy ran to the back parlor, and climbed a chair that stood by the mantel. The pretty marble clock was ticking its best; but she thought it did not tick fast enough. She opened the door of the clock, and moved the black hands round.
“Now maybe ’twill strike,” she thought; “and then he’ll come.”
It did strike, again and again, and yet again, till the sweet cathedral chimes filled all the air, and mamma came hurrying down-stairs to see what had happened.
“Lucy, Lucy,” said she in a tone of displeasure, “have you been touching the clock?”
“I had to make it strike, mamma, so my Jimmy would come,” replied the little rogue, scrambling down from the chair. “Are you in earnest, mamma? Oh, I don’t want you to be in earnest with your little girl!”
She looked in her mother’s face anxiously as she spoke; and Mrs. Dunlee promised to forgive her if she would never meddle with the clock again.
“No, I won’t ever, mamma, ever any more.”
At that very moment Jimmy appeared. Lucy ran up to him, laughing and crying; laughing because she had brought him home by making time go faster; crying because mamma was “in earnest” with her little girl.
“I’m all ready, and my dolly’s been all ready for ever ’n’ ever. ’Most got the friz out of her hair,” said Lucy reproachfully.