the hours from one to eight
He counted ten thousand black sheep jumping over a pasture fence , but , after the task was done and the sheep had scattered , he was as far from sleep as ever . Her face was everywhere . Her voice filled his ear with music never-ceasing , but it was not the lulling music that invites drowsiness . He heard the clock strike the hours from one to eight , when he arose , thoroughly disgusted with himself . Everything seemed to taste bitter or to look blue . That breakfast was a great strain on his natural politeness . He worshipped his mother , but in several instances that morning he caught himself just in time to prevent the utterance of some sharp rejoinder to her pleasant , motherly queries .