nine o’clock
His morning whistling alone betrayed it . His wife lay listening to him tinkering away in the garden , his whistling ringing out as he sawed and hammered away . It always gave her a sense of warmth and peace to hear him thus as she lay in bed , the children not yet awake , in the bright early morning , happy in his man 's fashion . At nine o'clock , while the children with bare legs and feet were sitting playing on the sofa , and the mother was washing up , he came in from his carpentry , his sleeves rolled up , his waistcoat hanging open . He was still a good-looking man , with black , wavy hair , and a large black moustache . His face was perhaps too much inflamed , and there was about him a look almost of peevishness . But now he was jolly .