five o'clock
`` There now , that 's my fellow , '' said Flurry , pointing to a fine-looking colt , `` the chestnut with the white diamond on his forehead . He 'll run into three figures before he 's done , but we 'll not tell that to the old lady ! '' The famous Aussolas bogs were as full of snipe as usual , and a good deal fuller of water than any bogs I had ever shot before . I was on my day , and Flurry was not , and as he is ordinarily an infinitely better snipe shot than I , I felt at peace with the world and all men as we walked back , wet through , at five o'clock . The sunset had waned , and a big white moon was making the eastern tower of Aussolas look like a thing in a fairy tale or a play when we arrived at the hall door . An individual , whom I recognised as the Robinson Crusoe coachman , admitted us to a hall , the like of which one does not often see . The walls were panelled with dark oak up to the gallery that ran round three sides of it , the balusters of the wide staircase were heavily carved , and blackened portraits of Flurry 's ancestors on the spindle side stared sourly down on their descendant as he tramped upstairs with the bog mould on his hobnailed boots .