Later in the day Mr. Jasper thought of the new official regulations _re_ Daylight Saving; and knowing the uselessness of ever hoping to get a brain that was merely feminine to grasp any great truth as set forth in newspapers, he himself put the clock on an hour; as master of the house he regarded it as his peculiar office to see that the law was duly enforced. He didn’t mention the matter to his wife; what would be the good? And it wasn’t her concern anyhow; but as he shut the door of the clock, he wondered where indeed the household would be if it were not for him and his thoughtful habits! Then there was Maudie Jasper. Being a bright child of twelve, brought up on modern educational lines, naturally she had no very high opinion of her parents’ intellects. Since it was she who illumined the home with the torch of learning, she felt it devolved on her to see that the clock kept abreast of current events. Besides, she was a shining example in the matter of Sunday-school tickets; she didn’t intend to be late next morning. So she, too, put on the hands an hour. It was just as Mrs. Jasper was going upstairs to bed at night, tired out with the Saturday night bathing of the children, that the clock stared her in the face, and the question arose: Had she, or had she not, put on that clock an hour as she had meant to? Her memory isn’t good at the best of times, and she was especially done up with a day that somehow had not seemed _nearly_ long enough for its accustomed duties, though she couldn’t make out why. But to make quite sure, she gave the hands a flick round; better be quite certain than have Maudie late for Sunday-school. Only she did wish they didn’t leave _everything_ for her to do! Next morning, when the Vicar drew up his blind at 7 A.M., as is his unfailing wont, he saw a small group of children standing forlornly outside the Sunday-school door, waiting for the 10 o’clock opening! * * * * * Mrs. Jasper’s was the next cottage we called at, to inquire after her husband, who was now at the front. Mrs. Jasper was delighted to see us, and of course asked if we had further news of the burglar, the fame of our footprints having spread far and wide. She told us all about the neuralgia in her head, and seemed much relieved when we assured her that it was not at all likely to turn to appendicitis. She had had a lurking fear that if it became appendicitis, she would have to go to a hospital, and she hadn’t much belief in hospitals. There was her sister’s little boy Tommy, up in London, just four years old, and all nerves, as you may say; screamed and kicked like anything if you didn’t give him what he wanted the moment he asked for it. They couldn’t do nothing with him.