``Stevie! Stevie!''

His mother was nudging him, but he was still falling. His head hung over the boards of Katie's stall; before it was sprawled the mangled corpse of the bearded stranger.

``Stevie, wake up now! We're nearly there.''

He had been dreaming. He was safe in his Mama's arms.

The train had slowed. Houses winked as the cars rolled beside a little depot. ``Po' Chavis!'' the trainman called. He came by and repeated, ``Po' Chavis!''

Bong! Bong! startled him awake. The room vibrated as if a giant hand had rocked it. Bong! a dull boom and a throbbing echo. The walls bulged, the floor trembled, the windowpanes rattled. He stared at the far morning, expecting a pendulum to swing across the horizon. Bong! He raced to the window and yanked at the sash. Bong! the wood was old, the paint alligatored. Bong! A fresh breeze saluted him. Six o'clock!

He put his his head out. There was the slate roof of the church; ivy climbed the red brick walls like a green scaled monster. The clock which had struck presented an innocent face.

In the kitchen Mama was wiping the cupboards.

``There's a tower and a steeple on the church a million feet high. And the loudest clock in the whole world!''

``I know, Stephen,'' she smiled. ``They say that our steeple is one hundred and sixty-two feet high. The clock you heard strike -- it's really the town clock -- was installed last April by Mrs. Shorter, on her birthday.''