eight o'clock at night
I lay on the stand when your grandparents were courting -- for that had to be done then as well as now -- and it was the same story of chairs wide apart , and chairs coming nearer , and arm over the back of the chair , and late hours , and four or five gettings up to go with the determination to stay , protracted interviews on the front steps , blushes and kisses . Your great-grandmother , out of patience at the lateness of the hour , shouted over the banister to your immediate grandmother , `` Mary ! come to bed ! '' Because the old people sit in the corner looking so very grave , do not suppose their eyes were never roguish , nor their lips ruby , nor their hair flaxen , nor their feet spry , nor that they always retired at half-past eight o'clock at night . After a while , I , the scissors , was laid on the shelf , and finally thrown into a box among nails and screws and files . Years of darkness and disgrace for a scissors so highly born as I . But one day I was hauled out .