seven o'clock in the
morning
So she shared confidences with the weather , and so unbosomed herself to nature and to God . Meantime she was as busy as a nesting-bird . She made her doctor 's chocolate , and took it in to him with the gazette or the news - sheet ; she would darn a hole in my stocking , on my leg , without pricking me at all , look me over , brush me , re-tie my hair , pat me into order with a critical eye , and send me off to my classes or study with a sage counsel to mind my books , and a friendly nod over her shoulder as we each went our ways . She would go to mass at the Santo , to market in the Piazza ; she would cheapen a dress-length , chat with a priest , admonish old Nonna , the woman of the house -- all before seven o'clock in the morning ; and not before then would she so much as sip a glass of coffee or nibble a crust of bread . On Sundays and Festas she took her husband 's arm and went to church as befitted , wearing her glazed gown of silver grey , her black lace zendado . She took a fan as well as a service-book -- and happy was I to carry them for her ; she had lace mittens on her hands and a fine three-cornered hat on her head . She looked then what she truly was , the thrifty young housewife , who , if she was as lovely as the summer 's dawn , was so only by the way .