William raised a frowning face.

“It’s not put together right,” he said, “it’s not been put together right all this time.  We’re makin’ it right now.  It must have wanted mendin’ for ever so long. I dunno how it’s been goin’ at all.  It’s lucky we found it out.  It’s put together wrong.  I guess it’s made wrong.  It’s goin’ to be a lot of trouble to us to put it right, an’ we can’t do much when you’re all standin’ in the light.  We’re very busy—­workin’ at tryin’ to mend this ole clock for you all.”

“Clever,” said Jimmy, admiringly.  “Mendin’ the clock. Clever!”

“William!” groaned his mother, “you’ve ruined the clock.  What will your father say?”

“Well, the cog-wheels was wrong,” said William doggedly.  “See?  An’ this ratchet-wheel isn’t on the pawl prop’ly—­not like what this book says it ought to be.  Seems we’ve got to take it all to pieces to get it right.  Seems to me the person wot made this clock didn’t know much about clock-making.  Seems to me——­”

“Be quiet, William!”

“We was be quietin’ ’fore you came in,” said Jimmy, severely.  “You ’sturbed us.”

“Leave it just as it is, William,” said his mother.

“You don’t unnerstand,” said William with the excitement of the fanatic.  “The cog-wheel an’ the ratchet ought to be put on the arbor different.  See, this is the cog-wheel.  Well, it oughtn’t to be like wot it was.  It was put on all wrong.  Well, we was mendin’ it.  An’ we was doin’ it for you,” he ended, bitterly, “jus’ to help an’—­to—­to make other folks happy.  It makes folks happy havin’ clocks goin’ right, anyone would think.  But if you want your clocks put together wrong, I don’t care.”

He picked up his book and walked proudly from the room followed by the admiring Jimmy.

“William,” said Aunt Lucy patiently, as he passed, “I don’t want to say anything unkind, and I hope you won’t remember all your life that you have completely spoilt this Christmas Day for me.”

“Oh, dear!” murmured Aunt Jane, sadly.

William, with a look before which she should have sunk into the earth, answered shortly that he didn’t think he would.

During the midday dinner the grown-ups, as is the foolish fashion of grown-ups, wasted much valuable time in the discussion of such futilities as the weather and the political state of the nation.  Aunt Lucy was still suffering and aggrieved.

“I can go this evening, of course,” she said, “but it’s not quite the same.  The morning service is different.  Yes, please, dear—­and stuffing.  Yes, I’ll have a little more turkey, too.  And, of course, the vicar may not preach to-night.  That makes such a difference.  The gravy on the potatoes, please.  It’s almost the first Christmas I’ve not been in the morning.  It seems quite to have spoilt the day for me.”

She bent on William a glance of gentle reproach.  William was quite capable of meeting adequately that or any other glance, but at present he was too busy for minor hostilities.  He was extremely busy.  He was doing his utmost to do full justice to a meal that only happens once a year.