The Fruit Stoners

“Tick tock! Tick tock!” went the clock on the mantelpiece, and it sounded, thought Maria, like the step of an animal padding through the jungle. But that, of course, was partly because she was lying on a great tiger’s skin at her father’s feet while he ate his stewed prunes and read his newspaper.
The lamps were lit in the cosy library of the old country house, for the autumn dusk was falling, and a bright log fire blazed upon the hearth. The curtains, however, were not yet drawn, and through the French windows the great cedars could be seen shadowy upon the lawn, a layer of thin mist creeping towards them from the park beyond.
“Tick tock! Tick tock!” sounded the white-faced clock on the mantelpiece, as with remorseless cry the fingers moved forwards round the solemn disc. They showed twenty minutes to six exactly.