The Old Clock Bewitched. 19

Job could not leave the poor biddies to die, when he had seen
every one of them come from the egg—wee bundles of down.
The hen-house was more difficult to reach than the cow’s
residence. Job’s arms ached, and his feet were cold, yet he
took up the shovel valiantly, and began to dig again. What
with running to and fro, back to the house to thaw numb
fingers at the fire, getting meals, and continuing to make paths,
it was late in the afternoon before Job had finished his labors.
He was able to throw corn to the chickens only by climbing
on a snow-mound, and scattering it through the small window
of the hen-house. The fowls did not know what to make of
it; they cocked their heads sideways to catch a glimpse of day-
light. While at work Job had been quite happy; when it
was over he began to feel frightened. The storm was in-
creasing, the wind commenced to moan. Grandfather could
not force his way back up the mountain while it lasted, and
that Job very well knew. The boy sat down in Grandfather's
chair, and burst into tears.

“You are too old to cry,” said a grave voice.

Job dried his eyes on his sleeve, and looked up.

“ Who are you?” he asked, curiosity conquering fear.

“Tam the clock. You should know me by this time.”

There it stood in the corner, with a brass ship above the
dial that rocked when the pendulum swung.

“T didn’t suppose you could talk,” laughed Job.

“T usually make enough noise, and I am always on the
minute, I hope. I don’t mind telling you what you will find
out sooner or later—to-night I am bewitched,” said the clock,

: ee
in a rattling way.