' If thou should'st ever
write of it, thy problem will be to reckon the good an' evil, an'
give each a careful estimate an' him his proper rank!"
"What a sad tale!" said the boy, thoughtfully. "It's terrible to
think he may be my father."
"I'd have no worry o' that, sor," said the clock tinker. "There be
ten thousand--ay, more--who know not their fathers. An', moreover,
'twas long, long ago."
"Please tell me when was the boy taken," said Trove.
"Time, or name, or place, I cannot tell thee, lest I betray him,"
said the old man, "Neither is necessary to thy tale. Keep it with
thee a while; thou art young yet an' close inshore. Wait until ye
sound the further deep. Then, sor, write, if God give thee power,
and think chiefly o' them in peril an' about to dash their feet
upon the stones."
For a moment the clocks' ticking was like the voice of many ripples
washing the shore of the Infinite. A new life had begun for Trove,
and they were cutting it into seconds. He looked up at them and
rose quickly and stood a moment, his thumb on the door-latch.
Outside they could hear the rush and scatter of the snow.
"Poor youth!" said the old man. "Thou hast no coat--take mine.
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