“I told John to have Peggy at the door at eleven,” she said, after a time; “but I think I can finish running in this ribbon before then. I haven't much to do to get ready to go.” “I hope Kate's train won't be late,” worried Aunt Hannah. “I hope not,” replied Billy; “but I told Rosa to delay luncheon, anyway, till we get here. I--” She stopped abruptly and turned a listening ear toward the door of Aunt Hannah's room, which was open. A clock was striking. “Mercy! that can't be eleven now,” she cried. “But it must be--it was ten before I came up-stairs.” She got to her feet hurriedly. Aunt Hannah put out a restraining hand. “No, no, dear, that's half-past ten.” “But it struck eleven.” “Yes, I know. It does--at half-past ten.” “Why, the little wretch,” laughed Billy, dropping back into her chair and picking up her work again. “The idea of its telling fibs like that and frightening people half out of their lives! I'll have it fixed right away. Maybe John can do it--he's always so handy about such things.” “But I don't want it fixed,” demurred Aunt Hannah. Billy stared a little. “You don't want it fixed! Maybe you like to have it strike eleven when it's half-past ten!” Billy's voice was merrily sarcastic. “Y-yes, I do,” stammered the lady, apologetically. “You see, I--I worked very hard to fix it so it would strike that way.” “_Aunt Hannah!_” “Well, I did,” retorted the lady, with unexpected spirit. “I wanted to know what time it was in the night--I'm awake such a lot.” “But I don't see.” Billy's eyes were perplexed. “Why must you make it tell fibs in order to--to find out the truth?” she laughed. Aunt Hannah elevated her chin a little. “Because that clock was always striking one.” “One!” “Yes--half-past, you know; and I never knew which half-past it was.” “But it must strike half-past now, just the same!” “It does.” There was the triumphant ring of the conqueror in Aunt Hannah's voice. “But now it strikes half-past _on the hour_, and the clock in the hall tells me _then_ what time it is, so I don't care.” For one more brief minute Billy stared, before a sudden light of understanding illumined her face. Then her laugh rang out gleefully. “Oh, Aunt Hannah, Aunt Hannah,” she gurgled. “If Bertram wouldn't call you the limit--making a clock strike eleven so you'll know it's half-past ten!” Aunt Hannah colored a little, but she stood her ground. “Well, there's only half an hour, anyway, now, that I don't know what time it is,” she maintained, “for one or the other of those clocks strikes the hour every thirty minutes. Even during those never-ending three ones that strike one after the other in the middle of the night, I can tell now, for the hall clock has a different sound for the half-hours, you know, so I can tell whether it's one or a half-past.” “Of course,” chuckled Billy.