it. Come on, come on!" he exclaimed.

"But, Mr. Wheeler," said Mercy, half-frightened at his manner, yet
trusting him in spite of herself, "do you really want to sell the clock?
If you have no use for it, I'd be very glad to buy it of you, if it looks
even a little like our old one. I will bring my mother to look at it."

"Fine young woman! fine young woman! Good face. Never mistaken in a face
yet. Don't sell clocks: never sold a clock yet. I'll give yer the clock,
if yer like it. Come on, child,--come on!" and he laid his hand on Mercy's
arm and drew her along.

Mercy held back. "Thank you, Mr. Wheeler," she said. "You're very kind.
But I think my mother would not like to have you give us a clock. I will
buy it of you; but I really cannot go with you now. Tell me where the
clock is, and I will come with my mother to see it."

The old man stamped his foot and his cane both with impatience. "Pshaw!
pshaw!" he said: "women all alike, all alike." Then with an evident effort
to control his vexation, and speak more slowly, he said, "Can't you see
I'm an old man, child? Don't pester me now. Come, on, come on! I tell you
I want to show yer that clock. Give it to you 's well 's not. Stood in the
lumber-room twenty years. Come on, come on! It's right up here, ten
steps." And again he took Mercy by the arm. Reluctantly she followed him,
thinking to herself, "Oh, what a rash thing this is to do! How do I know
but he really is crazy?"

He led the way up an outside staircase at the end of the Brick Row, and,
after fumbling a long time in several deep pockets, produced a huge rusty
iron key, and unlocked the door at the head of the stairs. A very strange