eight o'clock
I came home early from school . Mother was sewing at the parlor window , her eyes wandering from her work , up the road . It was an ugly day . It had rained drearily from eight o'clock till two , and closed in suffocating mist , creeping and dense and chill . It gave me a childish fancy of long-closed tombs and low-land graveyards , as I walked home in it . I tried to keep the younger children quiet when we went in , mother was so nervous . As the early , uncanny twilight fell , we grouped around her timidly .