| Title | The Ragged Trousered Philanthropists |
 |
|
| Page | 176 |
|
|
| Chapter | -- |
|
|
| Text |
one side of the fireplace, exclaimed: `That's a very nice clock.' `Yes, it's all right, ain't it?' said old Jack, with a touch of pride. `Poor Tom made that: not the clock itself, but just the case.' It was the case that had attracted Owen's attention. It stood about two feet high and was made of fretwork in the form of an Indian mosque, with a pointed dome and pinnacles. It was a very beautiful thing and must have cost many hours of patient labour. `Yes,' said the old woman, in a trembling, broken voice, and looking at Owen with a pathetic expression. `Months and months he worked at it, and no one ever guessed who it were for. And then, when my birthday came round, the very first thing I saw when I woke up in the morning were the clock standing on a chair by the bed with a card: 'To dear mother, from her loving son, Tom. Wishing her many happy birthdays.' |
|
|
|
|
