Wood County reporter. [volume] (Grand Rapids [i.e. Wisconsin Rapids], Wis.) 1857-1923, 1886-09-23

Poor Flora had buried her bushes in her
hands, and gave no answer.
Father looked from Flora to Roger and
back to Flora again, and said, louder than
before:
II want an answer; what does this all
mean?"
ooh father!" cried Flora, Il don't really
know, unless the sitting-room clock is be-
witched."
II have stopped every clock in the
house." replied the father in stentorian
tones.
Rogers face turned white and red by
turns; but he did not attempt to say any
thing. Father turned to him:
''Mr. Pettijohn, can you tell me what
this unearthly din in my house at near
ly midnight means?"
Roger had disjointed his flute. and
laid each bright silver section carefully
in its place in the ebony box which he
had himself made for it. As father fin
ished his question, Roger snapped down
the cover of the box and retorted
stifiy:
eff you aIlude to the duet which Miss
Flora and | have been practicing, I must
at least thank you for as much of your
compliment as includes myself. If you
allude to the misfortune which seems to
have overtaken your clock, excuse me if
L tell you that you or some of your
household know more about it than do.
1 wish you good evening, Mr.. Shaw. Good
evening, Miss Shaw"
And the wrathful Mr.. Pettiiohn turned
on his heel, and moment later the front
door shut behind him with no uncertain
sound.
''Miss Shaw. I whispered to Fred.
''That's murderous! He's fearful mad, or
he never would say ''Miss Shawl"
Roger did not whistle as he walked
briskly down the gravel path. We could
just see his form as he passed in the
darkness.
When we looked again into the parlor
Aunt Elizabeth, prim and straight in her
morning wrapper, candle in hand and
her eyes swapping and cleaning like
cats back in the dark stood between
father and Flora, looking inquiringly
from one to the other, mother had also
come into the room, her face the picture
of bewilderment and despair.
We thought it was time to draw the
curtain on our joke. We carefully lower
ed the window, and taking a last look at
the distressful tableau, hurried into the
kitchen, twitched off our boots, and has
tened up stairs. In a minute we were
well abed. The clock was still striking as
we dropped off to sleep.
Our experiences next morning do not
need to be described. We were found
out of course. Flora wore an injured air
for a week. Father was stern, but we
half suspected that he inwardly approved
our course. Roger Pettijohn's ring did
not disturbe our dOorbell for months.
When it was certain that Flora had van
pushed all competitors for the head of
her class, Fred and I managed to let him
know how "misfortune" came upon our
clock. We put the works back into the
case, and with proper ceremony made
him a present of it, and it was given an
hOnored place in his room. When at the
academy commencement Flora bore off
the valedictory, her largest bouquet had
Rogers card neatly attached with blue
ribbon.
The funniest part of the affair was that
when the clock began to strike on that
memorable evening Aunt Elizabeth be-
gan counting the strokes, according to
her invariable habit, and although she
went down into the parlor and returned
to her room after half an hour, she
avered that she had counted every stroke.
and that the clock had struck exactly 996
times. Nine hundred and ninetysix
O'Clock became family byword.