seven o'clock
Only last night , under a full moon , there had been pairs of lovers leaning over the rails of all the bridges along its course ; but that was a common sight , like that of the ardent couples sitting on its shady banks these summer days , looking only into each other 's eyes , but exclaiming about the beauty of the water . Lovers would come and go , sometimes reappearing with successive installments of loves in a way wholly mysterious to the river . Meantime it had its own work to do and must be about it , for the side jams were to be broken and the boom `` let out '' at the Edgewood bridge . It was just seven o'clock that same morning when Rose Wiley smoothed the last wrinkle from her dimity counterpane , picked up a shred of corn-husk from the spotless floor under the bed , slapped a mosquito on the window-sill , removed all signs of murder with a moist towel , and before running down to breakfast cast a frowning look at her pincushion . Almira , otherwise `` Mite , '' Shapley had been in her room the afternoon before and disturbed with her careless hand the pattern of Rose 's pins . They were kept religiously in the form of a Maltese cross ; and if , while she was extricating one from her clothing , there had been an alarm of fire , Rose would have stuck the pin in its appointed place in the design , at the risk of losing her life . Entering the kitchen with her light step , she brought the morning sunshine with her .