Nine o'clock
Seven o'clock -- eight o'clock -- Shiloh 's head swam -- her shoulders ached , her ears quivered with sensitiveness , and seemed not to catch sounds any more , but sharp and shooting pains . She was dazed already and weak ; but still the Steam Thing cheered its steel legions on . Up and down , up and down she walked , her baby thoughts coming to her as through the roar of a Niagara , through pain and sensitiveness , through aches and a dull , never-ending sameness . Nine o'clock ! Oh , she was so tired of it all ! Hark , she thought she heard a bird sing in a far off , dreamy way , and for a moment she made mud pies in the back yard of the hut on the mountain , under the black-oak in the yard , with the glint of soft sunshine over everything and the murmur of green leaves in the trees above , as the wind from off the mountain went through them , and the anemone , and bellworts , and daisies grew beneath and around . Was it a bluebird ?