three o'clock
Let saints and cynics cavil as they will , One throb of yours is worth whole years of ill . '' So thinks Luttrell ; so think I. To-day Molly has deserted him , and left him to follow his own devices . John has gone into the next town on some important errand connected with the farm : so perforce our warrior shoulders his gun and sallies forth savagely , bent on slaying aught that comes in his way . As two crows , a dejected rabbit , and an intelligent squirrel are all that present themselves to his notice , he wearies toward three o'clock , and thinks with affection of home . For so far has his air-castle mounted that , were Molly to inhabit a hovel , that hovel to him would be home . Crossing a stile and a high wall , he finds himself in the middle of the grounds that adjoin the more modest Brooklyn . The shimmer of a small lake makes itself seen through the branches to his right , and as he gains its bank a boat shoots forth from behind the willows , and a gay voice sings : `` There was a little man , And he had a little gun , And his bullets they were made of lead , lead , lead ; He went to a brook , And he saw a little -- '' `` Oh , Mr. Luttrell , please , please do n't shoot _ me _ , '' cries Molly , breaking down in the song with an exaggerated show of feigned terror .