The hammer rang once. A spark jumped off the anvil and did not go out. It waited. They followed.

It hopped across the grass to a little cart with a forge on the back. It dropped into the cold coals, and the coals woke up red.

A young raccoon put her head out of the cart. She had soot on her paws.

"Try it and see," said Fiddle. She held out two empty tool belts.

Inkling and Beto climbed up. The cart's bell rang once, and the wheels began to turn.

The cart rolled into Tickwell. The whole town smelled of burnt bread.

"The clock said fifty-two minutes," said the baker. "My loaves were in for the hour."

In the square stood a tall clock with a long pendulum swinging inside a glass door. A tortoise sat under it. Her shell was a clock too.

"This clock skips," said Tock. "It is only as good as its beat."

Inkling looked up at the clock face. She was sure.

"It's the hands. I can name it," said Inkling. "The hands are wrong, so push them to the right time!"

She reached for the little door on the clock face.

"Wait. Check it against a beat you trust," said Tock. "If you push the hands, it will just drift again tomorrow."

Inkling's cheeks went hot. She had named it too soon. She pulled her hand back.

"Count with me, slow and steady," said Tock. "Sixty seconds make one minute."

Tock watched her shell clock. Beto counted the pendulum. Every swing, one way, was one.

"Fifty-two," said Beto. "Why only fifty-two?"

"Sixty take away fifty-two is eight," said Tock. "Eight seconds lost every minute."

Eight seconds a minute. Sixty minutes in an hour. Eight times sixty is four hundred and eighty seconds. That is eight whole minutes lost every hour.

No wonder the bread burnt.

Beto turned to Fiddle. "What is wrong with it?"

"I won't tell you. It will," said Fiddle. "What does the metal tell you?"

So Beto opened the glass door and poked the pendulum gently. The heavy brass weight at the bottom moved. It slid on the rod!

"How does it work?" said Beto. "Could it slide by itself?"

"Poke it gently, then look again," said Fiddle.

A green inchworm climbed onto the rod.

"End to end, no gaps," said Inchy. "Start at the very end."

She stepped along her own body, from the top of the rod down to the weight. "One Inchy, two Inchy, three," said Inchy. She went all the way to eight.

On the wooden case was an old scratch. It was next to the six. Beside the six was a tiny scratched hammer, no bigger than a ladybird.

"The weight has slid two lengths down," said Inchy. "That's how many of me it is."

A beaver came over with an armful of little logs.

"Let's stack it up and see," said Stax. "One log for every swing."

They tried the weight at eight Inchys, then seven, then six. Each time, Tock timed one minute. Each time, Stax stacked a bar.

About fifty-two. About fifty-six. Sixty.

"Look at the bars, not the guesses," said Stax. "The tall bar wins the argument."

The bars went up as the swing got shorter. A shorter pendulum swings faster.

By dusk the pendulum was in pieces on the floor. Beto had taken it apart to see inside. Now the little nut that held the weight was rusted stuck.

Beto sat down. He was tired. Inkling sat next to him.

"I could take it apart," said Beto. "But how do I put it back?"

Tock did not hurry him. "Tick, and tick, and tick," she said softly.

Beto laid the pieces out in a row, in the order they came off. He put them back one by one, the last one first.

He took a drop of oil from Fiddle's cart and worked the rusty nut. It turned. He slid the weight up to the old scratch at six.

"Count with me, slow and steady," said Tock.

Sixty swings in one minute. Exactly.

Only then did Inkling set the hands. Just once.

That night the forge glowed. Fiddle let them pour a little brass weight and tie it to a string. A tick-weight. It went on Inkling's belt.

"Push it, pull it, twist it, see," said Fiddle, and smiled.

The cart's bell rang twice, and the road ran home.

The spark dimmed to a warm dot and settled back on the anvil. The Green was just the Green again.

Back on the Green

At home Inkling swung her tick-weight by the kitchen clock. It was too slow, so she made the string shorter. Then it was too fast. She made it a tiny bit longer. Sixty swings in one minute!

"I noticed something," said Inkling. "Shorter is faster."

Tell the story back to someone. Why didn't they just push the hands?