eleven o'clock
One bitterly cold night we were sitting around a blazing coal fire in the library . It was very late . Aunt Sarah was asleep in her chair ; my uncle was reading . Suddenly the door opened and Robert came in , bringing a letter on his little silver tray : it was past eleven o'clock ; the evening mail had been brought in long before . `` Why , what is that , Robert ? '' said Uncle Jo , starting up a little alarmed . `` One of them old letters , sir , '' replied Robert ; `` I just got it on the cellar stairs , sir . ''