four o'clock
She had started at eighteen years old , at thirty dollars a month . Now she was twenty-five , and she got all of fifty dollars , so she ought to have been a very happy Liberry Teacher indeed , and generally she was . When the children wanted to specify her particularly they described her as `` the pretty one that laughs . '' But at four o'clock of a wet Saturday afternoon , in a badly ventilated , badly lighted room full of damp little unwashed foreign children , even the most sunny-hearted Liberry Teacher may be excused for having thoughts that are a little tired and cross and restless . She flung herself back in her desk-chair and watched , with brazen indifference , Giovanni and Liberata Bruno stickily pawing the colored Bird Book that was supposed to be looked at only under supervision ; she ignored the fact that three little Czechs were fighting over the wailing library cat ; and the sounds of conflict caused by Jimsy Hoolan 's desire to get the last-surviving Alger book away from John Zanowski moved her not a whit . The Liberry Teacher had stopped , for five minutes , being grown-up and responsible , and she was wishing -- wishing hard and vengefully . This is always a risky thing to do , because you never know when the Destinies may overhear you and take you at your exact word .