The question that haunted me was this: Did the pendulum _stop_ on reaching the highest point of the ascending arc? Did it pause before beginning the descent? And if it stopped, did _time_ stop with it? I answered both questions in the affirmative. Well, then, what was a _second_? Did the stoppage at the end of the swing make the second, or was the second made by the swing, the movement between the two points of rest? I concluded that it was the stoppage. For, mark you, it _takes_ a second for the pendulum to reach the stopping point on either side; therefore there can be no second till that point is reached; the second must _wait_ for the stoppage to do the business. I saw no other way of getting _any_ seconds. And if no seconds, no minutes; and if no minutes, no hours, no days, and therefore no time at all--which is absurd. I found great peace in this conclusion; but none the less I continued to support it by collateral reasonings, and by observation. In particular I determined, for reasons of my own, to make a careful survey of the hands of the clock. With this object I borrowed my father's field-glass, and, retiring to a convenient point of observation, focussed it on the clock-face. Instantly a startling phenomenon sprang into view. I saw that the big hand of the clock, instead of moving evenly as it seemed to do when viewed by the naked eye, was visibly _jerking_ on its way, in time with the seconds that were being ticked off by the pendulum inside. By George, the hand was going jerk, jerk! The pendulum and the hand were moving together! Jerk went the hand: then a pause. What's happening now? thought I. Why the pendulum has just ticked and is going to tock. Tock it goes and--there you are!--jerk goes the hand again. "Why, of course," I said to myself, "that proves it. The hand _stops_, as well as the pendulum. The evidence of the hand corroborates the evidence of the pendulum. The seconds _must_ be the stoppages. They can't be anything else. There's nothing else for them to be. I'll tell Billy Burst this very day! But no, I won't. I'll wait till the holidays and _show_ it him." Such was the secret which I resolved to impart to Billy in return for what he had disclosed to me. Some months after this amazing discovery Billy came down for the holidays. He arrived late in the afternoon, and I could hardly restrain my impatience while he was having his tea. Hardly had he swallowed the last mouthful when I had him by the jacket. "Come on, Billy," I cried. "I'm going to show you something"--and we ran together to the church. Arrived there, I placed him in front of the pendulum, which seemed to be swinging that afternoon with an even friendlier motion than usual. "There!" I said, "look at him."