“Oh, is that the clock you meant, Mr. Wheeler?” she exclaimed.

“Yes, yes, that’s it.  Nice old clock.  Took it for debt.  Cost me more’n ’t’s wuth.  As fur that matter, ‘tain’t wuth nothin’ to me.  Wouldn’t hev it in the house ‘n’ more than I’d git the town ’us tower in for a clock.  D’ye like it, child?  Ye can hev it’s well’s not.  I’d like to give it to ye.”

“I should like it very much, very much indeed,” replied Mercy.  “But I really cannot think of taking it, unless you let us pay for it.”

The old man sprung to his feet with such impatience that the leather bale rolled away from him, and he nearly lost his balance.  Mercy sprang forward and caught him.

“Bless my soul!  Bless my soul!  Don’t pester me, child!  Don’t you see I’m an old man?  I tell ye I’ll give ye the clock, an’ I won’t sell it ter ye,—­won’t, won’t, won’t,” and he picked up his cane, and stood leaning upon it with both his hands clasped on it, and his head bent forward, eagerly scanning Mercy’s face.  She hesitated still, and began to speak again.

“But, Mr. Wheeler,”—­

“Don’t ‘but’ me.  There ain’t any buts about it.  There’s the clock.  Take it, child,—­take it, take it, take it, or else leave it, just’s you like.  I ain’t a-goin’ to saddle ye with it; but I think ye’d be very silly not to take it,—­silly, silly.”

Mercy began to think so too.  The clock was its own advocate, almost as strong as the old man’s pleading.

“Very well, Mr. Wheeler,” she said.  “I will take the clock, though I don’t know what my mother will say.  It is a most valuable present.  I hope we can do something for you some day.”

“Tut, tut, tut!” growled the old man.  “Just like all the rest o’ the world.  Got no faith,—­can’t believe in gettin’ somethin’ for nothin’.  You’re right, child,—­right, right.  ’S a general thing, people are cheats, cheats, cheats.  Get all your money away,—­wolves, wolves, wolves!  Stay here, child, a minute.  I’ll get two men to carry it.”  And, before Mercy realized his intention, he had shut the door, locked it, and left her alone in the warehouse.  Her first sensation was of sharp terror; but she ran to the one window which was accessible, and, seeing that it looked out on the busiest thoroughfare of the town, she sat down by it to await the old man’s return.  In a very few moments, she heard the sounds of steps on the stairs, the door was thrown open, and the old man, still talking to himself in muttered tones, pushed into the room two ragged vagabonds whom he had picked up on the street.

They looked as astonished at the nature of the place as Mercy had.  With gaping mouths and roving eyes, they halted on the threshold.

“Come in, come in!  What ’re ye ’bout?  Earn yer money, earn yer money!” exclaimed the old man, pointing to the clock, and bidding them take it up and carry it out.

“Now mind!  Quarter a piece, quarter a piece,—­not a cent more.  Do ye understand?  Hark ’e! do ye understand?  Not a cent more,” he said, following them out of the door.  Then turning to Mercy, he exclaimed,—­