half past ten
On Saturday mornings there were griddle cakes and maple syrup from their own trees ; for Osh Popham had shown them in the spring how to tap their maples , and collect the great pails of sap to boil down into syrup . Mother Carey and Peter made the beds after the departure of the others for school , and it was pretty to see the sturdy Peter-bird , sometimes in his coat and mittens , standing on the easiest side of the beds and helping his mother to spread the blankets and comforters smooth . His fat legs carried him up and downstairs a dozen times on errands , while his sweet piping voice was lifted in a never ending stream of genial conversation , as he told his mother what he had just done , what he was doing at the present moment , how he was doing it , and what he proposed to do in a minute or two . Then there was a lull from half past ten to half past eleven , shortened sometimes on baking days , when the Peter-bird had his lessons . The old-fashioned kitchen was clean and shining by that time . The stove glistened and the fire snapped and crackled . The sun beamed in at the sink window , doing all he could for the climate in the few hours he was permitted to be on duty in a short New England winter day .