Young Reuben scraped off his boots the worst of the mud from the furrows
against the gate-post, shut the gate, and trudged homewards from his
labour; as he turned into the road from the end of the lane he came in
sight of old Reuben, sitting as usual on his heap of stones by the
roadside; his hammer lay idly in his hand, its head on the heap of
larger flints before him; the old gentleman was slowly shaking his
head--not that he was such a very old gentleman; sixty, maybe; and still
hale and strong.
"What be amiss, father?" said young Reuben. "Ye've bin a-settin' there
shakin' yer head like a old owl since I turned into the road. It be time
to knock off."
"Amiss, Reuben? Why, thet's where you have me, like. What I know is,
there be a somethin' amiss; and it be either me or the time, and so I
tell ye. Am I a-gettin' old an' weak, boy; or is it the hours a-goin'
quicker? Lookee here, Reuben, it do seem to me as I can do less in the
time every blessed day as follers t'other! Why, thirty year agone,
blest if I didn't do--ah, double thet there little 'eap in the day's
work--and yet, blame me if I feel a bit weaker nor I used ter! You mark
my words, Reuben, boy; the hours is a-gettin' shorter every day--thet's
what they're a-doin', and you put it down at thet!"
Young Reuben laughed incredulously. "You're a-gittin' lazy, old
'un--that's about the size of it," he said.
[Illustration: 'Young Reuben laughed.']
"I hain't a-gettin' nothink o' the kind nor discripshen!" said old
Reuben, starting up indignantly; "and you put it down at thet."
"Well, lazy or not lazy, I ken show ye a stone as you ain't industrous
enough fer to break. Found it in a furrer, I did; an' talk about 'ard!
And a fair rum 'un he be, too."
They plodded to the field young Reuben had just left; and young Reuben,
with some difficulty, lifted the "stone" for inspection. It was a bowl,
very ancient by the look of it, laboriously carved and ground out from a
piece of rock that seemed as hard as steel.
"A rum 'un he be, too, and right you are," said old Reuben. "A
wash-bowl, likely."
"What be that 'ole in the bottom fer, then?" said young Reuben.
"Why, fer to empty him, that be, as a pig might see with 'is eyes shet."
They carried the bowl home, and a pretty good weight they found it.
Old Jim Pedler came along that evening to have a pipe. Jim Pedler had
been about a deal here and there, and he knew a lot.
"Why, whatee got theer?" said he.
"Mebbe ye'll know that better ner us," replied old Reuben. "Some kind
o'wash-basin, so we seem to reckon it be."
"Wash-basin," said old Jim Pedler. "That's jest what it been't. I tellee
now, I do think as it's some kind of old sort of water-clock, an' that's
what I think. Why, see here now, if there ain't bin lines 'ere inside
fer to mark the hours or somethin'. That's it--it be a water-clock.
S'pose we gits some water an' tries it."
They cleared out the hole at the bottom and filled the bowl with water
up to the first hour mark; and, old Jim Pedler having a watch, they sat
and looked on as the water dripped out; but when they had sat and smoked
for two hours the bowl was still far from empty.
"'Twern't never meant to reckon hours by, that's a moral," said young
Reuben.
"Thet's more ner _you_ knows," replied old Reuben. "What der _you_ know
about folks's hours as lived ages ago? You jest let other folks's hours
alone, as p'raps knowed better ner you. Mebbe their hours _was_
longer--what did I say this wery day about the hours a-bein' shorter now
than wot they was thirty year agone? But I tell yer wot: it 'ud make a
notionable kind of clock if we was to bore the 'ole a bit bigger and
jest manage to git it right for the hours."
So they drilled and filed and tried to chip; and after much labour they
made the hole large enough to let out the water from one mark to the
next in sixty minutes.
And all the while there hovered around them, invisible, the spirit of
him that fashioned the bowl, longing to speak what it knew; but its time
for returning to the flesh was not yet--but it was coming.