eight o'clock
chime ! chim ! chime ! -- and every morning at eight o'clock the little old lady came down the white steps , and opened the gate with a click , and went where the bells were calling . About this time also little Ida would kneel on a chair at her nursery window in the opposite house to watch the old lady come out and go . The old lady was one of those people who look always the same . Every morning her cheeks looked like faded rose-leaves , and her white hair like a snow-wreath in a garden laughing at the last tea-rose .