"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.