about eleven in the morning
Half an hour later he was asleep . But not , it must be confessed , in the aristocratic seclusion of his own berth . He was downily curled beside Mother , his cheek nuzzled beside her delicate old hand . They changed from steamer to railroad ; about eleven in the morning they stepped out at West Skipsit , Cape Cod . Uncle Joe Tubbs and Mrs. Tubbs were driving up , in a country buggy . Father and Mother filled their nostrils with the smell of the salt marshes , their ears with the long murmur of the mile-distant surf , their eyes with the shine of the great dunes and the demure peace of a New England white cottage standing among firs and apple-trees -- scent and sound and sight of their freedom . `` Father , we 're here ! ''