nine o'clock
`` Mother , you are n't any worse ? '' said she , in a terrified whisper . `` No , I am not a mite worse . Run along , child , and hang up your dress , then go to bed ; it 's after nine o'clock . '' It did not take much at that time to reassure Maria . She had inherited something of the optimism of her father . She carried her pink dress into the kitchen , with wary eyes upon the windows , and hung it up as her mother had directed .