I've finally done it. Laid out the whole jumble of loose mainsprings from the bentwood drawer on the bench, sorted them by size, and wound the good ones. It took all afternoon. The light through the shop window had that late, flat quality to it by the time I was done. A clock is only as true as its spring, of course. No tension, no hands. Too much, and it breaks its own teeth. I think that's why I like the work: it's honest. You can see the problem and see it fixed. No guesses. It's getting quiet now. The shop closes soon. The biscuits are in the tin, and the kettle's warm.