half past eight
The sitting room of the light keeper 's home was even more nautical than that at the Phipps ' place . There was no less than six framed paintings of ships and schooners on the walls , and mantel and what-not bore salt-water curios of many kinds handed down by generations of seafaring Halletts -- whales ' teeth , little ships in bottles , idols from the South Sea islands , bead and bone necklaces , Eskimo lance-heads and goodness knows what . And below the windows , at the foot of the bluff on the ocean side , the great waves pounded and muttered and growled , while high above the chimneys of the little house Gould 's Bluffs light thrust its flashing spear of flame deep into the breast of the black night . It was almost half past eight when Martha Phipps , whose seat was near the front window of the sitting room , held up a warning hand . `` Listen ! '' she cried . `` Is n't that an automobile comin ' ? ''