The Black Swans 



plate-glass door. We have one of 

 those too, in town, a very ornamental 

 piece of furniture, to be sure, but no 

 intimate of mine. It's too infernally 

 exclusive. You can't get near it. A fine 

 Swiss watch kept in a fire-and-burglar- 

 proof safe would be quite as sociable. 

 Not so this dear old-fashioned thing 

 that came to live with us at Dumbie- 

 dykes. You have seen clocks like it. 

 Our grandfathers knew them well. 

 We ought to know them better. Simple 

 works, mounted on a shelf behind a 

 dial. Big, square, iron weights operated 

 by chain and pulley. A long wooden 

 pendulum with its metal disc swaying 

 lazily back and forth between four 

 open posts, some seven feet in height. 

 Nothing comes between you and itself. 

 It is there, alive, close to you. 



I am not sure but it has altogether 

 the most agreeable personality of any 

 member of the household. Its poise 

 is so perfect, its voice is never raised 

 in anger nor suppressed in sullen 



[12] 



