A candle burned on a mantel, sending its tranquil light out into the
room and creating ghostly shadows. Under the mantel, in the deepest
shadows of all, andirons and a crane seemed to be slinking back as if
they were hiding.

In the center of the room there was a rough wooden table. Over against
the wall, near the door which opened to the highway, stood a
grandfather's clock, ticking severely, as if it were dissatisfied with
the way things were going in the house. There were a number of other
doors visible, all closed as if they were saying, "This is an orderly
house, and everybody has gone to bed, of course!"

But everybody hadn't gone to bed! Over beyond the wooden table,
against the wall, there was a bed, and there was nobody in it.
Moreover, there was a figure seated at the wooden table: the figure of
a woman, who silently polished the spoons which were scattered before
her. She had already scoured certain pots and pans which were piled in
a heap near her hand.

Suddenly the strange happenings began.

A mouse appeared among the pots and pans on the table. It sat an
instant, with alert eyes and fidgety nose and whiskers, and then it
scrambled down the leg of the table and crossed the floor in the
direction of the grandfather's clock. An instant later there it was
again, climbing up the white face of the clock!

The clock ticked more severely than ever. The mouse disappeared amid
the works of the clock: and presto! The clock loudly struck one.