three o'clock
Girl-like , she had cried and begged him to go back . With a cheerful wave of his hand to his mother , he returned to the field before the negroes , strapped the bag on his shoulder and bent again to his task . The afternoon was long . It seemed at three o'clock there could be no end to it and still those long , long rows of white fleece stretched on and on into eternity -- all alike in dull , tiresome monotony . He whistled to keep up his courage . The negroes whispered to one another and smiled as they looked his way . He paid no attention .