five o'clock
`` Come back to the Ford and thank the Smith , or you 'll be sorry . '' ` Back the farmer had to go . I led the horse , though no one saw me , and the novice walked beside us , his gown swishing through the shiny dew and his fishing-rod across his shoulders , spear-wise . When we reached the Ford again -- it was five o'clock and misty still under the oaks -- the farmer simply would n't say `` Thank you . '' He said he 'd tell the Abbot that the novice wanted him to worship heathen Gods . Then Hugh the novice lost his temper . He just cried , `` Out ! ''