But nothing did happen. There was deep silence only. The slanting
sunshine lay across the lawn, the wind passed sighing through the lime
trees, and the clock stared up into their faces, motionless, a blank
expression on it--stopped. They formed a circle round it. No one moved
or spoke. There was a queer, deep pause. The sun watched them; the sky
was listening; the entire afternoon stood still. Something else beside
the clock, it seemed, was slowing up.
"To-morrow's Sunday. Time's getting awfully short," was in the air
inaudibly.
"Let's sit down," whispered Tim, already seated himself, but anxious
to feel the others close. Judy and Uncle Felix obeyed. They all sat
round in a circle, staring at the shining disc of the motionless,
stopped clock. It might have been a Lucky Bag by the way they watched
it with expectant faces.
But Maria also was in that circle, sitting calmly in its centre.
Then Uncle Felix cautiously lifted the glittering round thing and held
it in his hand. He put his ear down to listen. He shook his head.
"It hasn't gone since this time yesterday," said Tim in a low tone.
"That's twenty-four hours," he added, calculating it on the fingers of
both hands.
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