seven
o'clock
There were no pretty pictures on the walls , like those in Floy 's house in the country ; the chairs were hard and uncomfortable , and little Floy had nothing to amuse her . Mamma could n't spare time to walk much , and Floy was not allowed to play on the sidewalk , lest she might hear naughty words , and play with naughty children . Mamma 's pen went scratch -- scratch -- scratch -- from sunrise till sunset , -- save when she took a turn across the floor to get rid of an ugly pain in her shoulders , from constant stooping . Floy was weary of counting the bricks on the opposite wall , -- weary of seeing the milkman stop at seven o'clock , and the baker at nine , -- weary of hearing the shrill voice of Mrs. Walker , -LRB- below stairs , -RRB- of whom mamma hired her room . Still Floy never complained ; but sometimes when she could bear the monotonous , dull stillness no longer , she would slide her little hand round her mamma 's waist , and say , `` Please , Mamma , put up that ugly pen , and take me on your lap . '' Floy was always sorry when Christmas , and New Year , and Thanksgiving came round ; because it made mamma 's eyes so red and swollen , and because she was such a little girl that she could n't tell how to comfort her . She longed to grow up a big lady , that she might earn some money , so that mamma need n't work so hard ; and it puzzled her very much to know what had become of mamma 's old _ friends _ , who used to ride out so often to their pretty country house , in papa 's lifetime , to eat strawberries , and to drink tea .