seven o'clock
_ '' Arnold `` Laces cleaned , and fluting and ruffling done here , '' -- that was what the little sign swinging outside the little green door said . And , coming under it into the cosey little rooms , you felt this was just the place in which to leave things soiled and torn , and come back to find them , by some mysterious process , immaculate and whole . Two rooms , with folding-doors between , in which through the day stood a counter , cut up on the one side into divers pigeon-holes rilled with small boxes and bundles , carefully pinned and labelled , -- owner 's name , time left , time to be called for , money due ; neat and nice as a new pin , as every one said who had any dealings there . The counter was pushed back now , as always after seven o'clock , for the people who came in the evening were few ; and then , when that was out of the way , it seemed more home-like and less shoppy , as Mrs. Franklin said every night , as she straightened things out , and peered through the window or looked from the front door , and wondered if `` Abram were n't later than usual , '' though she knew right well he was punctual as clock-work , -- good clock-work too , -- when he was going to his toil or hurrying back to his home . Pleasant little rooms , with the cleanest and brightest of rag carpets on the floor ; a paper on the walls , cheap enough , but gay with scarlet rosebuds and green leaves , rivalled by the vines and berries on the pretty chintz curtains ; chairs of a dozen ages and patterns , but all of them with open , inviting countenances and a hospitable air ; a wood fire that _ looked _ like a wood fire crackling and sparkling on the hearth , shining and dancing over the ceiling and the floor and the walls , cutting queer capers with the big rocking-chair , -- which turned into a giant with long arms , -- and with the little figures on the mantel-shelf , and the books in their cases , softening and glorifying the two grand faces hanging in their frames opposite , and giving just light enough below them to let you read `` John Brown '' and `` Phillips , '' if you had any occasion to read , and did not know those whom the world knows ; and first and last , and through all , as if it loved her , and was loath to part with her for a moment , whether she poked the flame , or straightened a chair , or went out towards the little kitchen to lift a lid and smell a most savory stew , or came back to the supper-table to arrange and rearrange what was already faultless in its cleanliness and simplicity , wherever she went and whatever she did , this firelight fell warm about a woman , large and comfortable and handsome , with a motherly look to her person , and an expression that was all kindness in her comely face and dark , soft eyes , -- eyes and face and form , though , that might as well have had `` Pariah '' written all over them , and `` leper '' stamped on their front , for any good , or beauty , or grace , that people could find in them ; for the comely face was a dark face , and the voice , singing an old Methodist hymn , was no Anglo-Saxon treble , but an Anglo-African voice , rich and mellow , with the touch of pathos or sorrow always heard in these tones . `` There ! '' she said , `` there he is ! ''