Looking around to find whence the noise proceeded, he was rather
startled on observing in the wall, in one corner, just under the
ceiling, a tiny door fly open, and emerging thence a grotesque,
miniature man, holding, uplifted in his hand, a hammer of size
proportionate to his own figure. Mr. Norton sat motionless, while this
small specimen proceeded, with a jerky gait and many bobbing grimaces,
across a wire stretched to the opposite corner of the room, where
stood a tall, ebony clock. When within a short distance of the clock
another tiny door in its side flew open; the little man entered and
struck deliberately with the hammer the hour of midnight. Near the top
of the dial-plate was seen from without the regular uplifting of the
little arm, applying its stroke to the bell within. Having performed
his duty, this personage jerked out of the clock, the tiny door
closing behind him, bobbed and jerked along the wire as before, and
disappeared at the door in the wall, which also immediately closed
after his exit.

Having witnessed the whole manoeuvre with comic wonder and curiosity,
Mr. Norton burst into a loud and hearty peal of laughter, that was
still resounding in the room when he became suddenly aware of the
presence of Mrs. McNab. There she stood in the centre of the
apartment, her firm, square figure apparently rooted to the floor, her
head enveloped in innumerable folds of white cotton, a tower of
strength and defiance.

Her unexpected appearance changed in a moment the mood of the good
man, and he inquired anxiously, "Is the gentleman more ill? Can I
assist you?"

"He's just this minnut closed his eyes to sleep, and naw I expect he's