The Clock by James Lincoln Collier Page B

George?” Ma said.
    He didn’t say anything for a minute. Then he said, “I just have a feeling about it. I don’t like the man. I never did. Since this happened I met a man from where Hoggart worked before he came here. The rumor’s true—Hoggart lost his position there because he was pestering the girls.”
    Pa stared at George. “Who told you that?”
    â€œOne of the men who works at the Derby sawmill. He says everybody knows it.”
    â€œRumors,” Pa said. “Just rumors.”
    â€œI don’t think so,” George said. “Pa, if it was me, I’d take Annie out of the mill.”
    â€œGeorge, it’s your father’s business,” Ma said.
    â€œThat may be so,” George said. “But if it was me, I wouldn’t have her in the mill.” He stood up. “I’m going to see to the ox.” He didn’t say anything more, but went out through the back door, and into the night. I sat there for a minute, wiping my eyes, and trying to get a hold on myself. Then I stood up. “I’ll go collect the eggs.” And I went out after George.
    He was pouring a bucket of water in the ox’s trough. “George,” I said. “Why did you say that?”
    He shook his head. “I don’t know why I bothered. There’s nothing Pa can do. He’s near ruined with debt, and he’s depending on your wages to keep him going. I think down inside he knows he ought to take you out of the mill. But he can’t allow himself to believe that, for he’ll be in serious trouble if he lets you stay home.”
    â€œWhy can’t he just give that blame clock back?”
    George shrugged. “That’s Pa’s stubbornness. If he gives the clock back it’s like admitting he failed. He can’t admit that, even to himself.”
    I looked at George. “What am I going to do?”
    â€œIf it happens again, don’t bother Pa about it. You tell me.” It made me feel better to hear him say that. But nothing could make me feel much better, because of Robert.
    ******
    The worst of it was to go on working at the mill. Robert’s burial was that Sunday, and Pa let me stay home until then. But on the next Monday I had to go back to the mill. Pa had signed the contract. I didn’t have any choice. But it had less than three months to go. I had to get through that.
    It was just dreadful. I had to stand there all day long, with that waterwheel turning around and around below me, trying not to think of Robert being caught under it and his bones all smashed. I hoped it hadn’t hurt him much. I hoped it had killed him quick, before it started to break up his bones. Those first days back at the mill I thought a lot about jumping out the window on top of the water-wheel myself.
    After a few days I knew I couldn’t go on like that. I just couldn’t stand the pain. I knew I had to put Robert out of my mind, or die myself. The trouble was that I had too much time to think. So, when I was standing at my slubbing billy or walking back and forth to the mill, I tried to go over the eight-times table in my head, or work out what countries were next to France. Finally, after another week or so, there came times when I wouldn’t think about Robert for a whole hour at a stretch. But then something would happen that would remind me of him—I’d hear somebody use an expression he liked, or a song he used to sing, and it would all come up again. Of course, I had to walk past his house every morning and every night; and there was always that awful waterwheel.
    The one good thing that came out of it was that Mr. Hoggart stayed away from me. He knew that there was talk against him in the village, and he didn’t want to add to it. But I figured he still had a grudge against me, and when he thought the talk over Robert had died down, he’d try to get even.
    Just to look at Mr. Hoggart, knowing that