He bent his keen
blue eyes upon her.
"Town meetin' this time o' year?" said he. "What for?"
"Oh, it's about the celebration. Old Mr. Eaton"--
"What Eaton?"
"William W."
"He that went away in war time, an' made money in wool? Old War-Wool
Eaton?"
Nicholas nodded, at her assent, and his look blackened. He knew what
was coming.
"Well, he sent word he meant to give us a clock, same as he had other
towns, an' he wanted we should have it up before the celebration."
"Yes," said Nicholas Oldfield, "he'll give us a clock, will he? I knew
he would. I've said 'twas comin'. He give one to Saltash; he's gi'n 'em
all over the county. Do you know what them clocks be? They've got
letters round the dial, in place o' figgers; an' the letters spell out,
'In Memory of Me.' An' down to Saltash they've gi'n up sayin' it's
quarter arter twelve, or the like o' that. They say it's O minutes past
I."
He glared at her. Young Nick's Hattie thought she had never heard
father speak with such bitterness; and indeed it was true. Never before
had he been assailed on his own ground; it seemed as if the whole
township now conspired to bait him.
"Well" she remarked weakly, "I dunno's it does any hurt, so long as
they can tell what they mean by it.
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