"It's an outrage," declared the Little Red Doctor fiercely, "that an old lunatic can move in here from God-knows-where in a pushcart and play merry hell with a hard-working practitioner's professional duties. And you're the one to tell him so, Dominie. You're the diplomat of the Square." He even inveigled the Bonnie Lassie into backing him up in this preposterous proposal. She had her own grievance against the House of Silvery Voices. "It isn't the way it plays tricks on time alone," said she. "There's one clock in there that's worse than conscience." And she brought her indictment against a raucous timepiece which was wont to lead up to its striking with a long, preliminary clack-and-whirr, alleging that twice, when she had quit her sculping early because the clay was obdurate and wouldn't come right, and had gone for a walk to clear her vision, the clock had accosted her in these unjustifiable terms: "Clacketty-whirr-rr-rr! Back-to-yer-worr-rr-rrk! Yerr-rr-rr-rr _wrong! wrong! wrong! wrong!"_ "Wherefore," said the Bonnie Lassie, "your appellant prays that you be a dear, good, stern, forbidding Dominie and go over to Number 37 and ask him what he means by it, anyway, and tell him he's got to stop it." Now, the Bonnie Lassie holds the power of the high, the middle, and the low justice over all Our Square by the divine right of loveliness and kindliness. So that evening I went while the Little Red Doctor, as a self-constituted Committee in Waiting, sat on my bench. Stepfather Time himself opened the door to me. "What might they call you, sir, if I may ask?" he inquired with timid courtesy. "They might call me the Dominie hereabouts. And they do." "I have heard of you." He motioned me to a seat in the bare little room, alive with tickings and clickings. "You have lived long here, sir?" "Long." From some interminable distance a voice of time mocked me with a subtle and solemn mockery: "_Long. Long. Long_." My host waited for the clock to finish before he spoke again. As I afterward discovered, this was his invariable custom. "I, too, am an old man," he murmured. "A hardy sixty, I should guess." "A long life. Might I ask you a question, sir,' as to the folk in this Square?" He hesitated a moment after I had nodded. "Are they, as one might say, friendly? Neighborly?" I was a little taken aback. "We are not an intrusive people." "No one," he said, "has been to see my clocks." I began to perceive that this was a sad little man, and to mislike my errand. "You live here quite alone?" I asked. "Oh, no!" said he quickly. "You see, I have Willy Woolly. Pardon me. I have not yet presented him." At his call the fluffy poodle ambled over to me, sniffed at my extended hand, and, rearing, set his paws on my knee. "He greets you as a friend," said my new acquaintance in a tone which indicated that I had been signally honored. "I trust that we shall see you here often, Mr. Dominie. Would you like to inspect my collection now?"