five minutes to twelve
Despite all the rattle and roar of the wind , we went on in church as usual . The vicar had a stout young curate from Durham , who could outshout any tempest , with a good stone wall between them ; and the Bruntsea folk were of thicker constitution than to care an old hat for the weather . Whatever was `` sent by the Lord '' they took with a grumble , but no excitement . The clock in front of the gallery told the time of the day as five minutes to twelve , when the vicar , a pleasant old-fashioned man , pronounced his text , which he always did thrice over to make us sure of it . And then he hitched up his old black gown , and directed his gaze at the lord of the manor , to impress the whole church with authority . Major Hockin acknowledged in a proper manner this courtesy of the minister by rubbing up his crest , and looking even more wide-awake than usual ; whereas Aunt Mary , whose kind heart longed to see her own son in that pulpit , calmly settled back her shoulders , and arranged her head and eyes so well as to seem at a distance in rapt attention , while having a nice little dream of her own . But suddenly all was broken up .