quarter to six
Some sound started her out of her reverie . Rose jumped , stared a moment at the letters in her lap , then hastily , almost shamefacedly , sorted them -LRB- she knew each envelope by heart -RRB- tied them , placed them in their box and bore them down the hail . There , mounting her chair , she scrubbed the top shelf with her soapy rag , placed the box in its corner , left the hall closet smelling of cleanliness , with never a hint of lavender to betray its secret treasure . Were Rose to die and go to Heaven , there to spend her days thumbing a golden harp , her hands , by force of habit , would , drop harp-strings at quarter to six , to begin laying a celestial and unspotted table-cloth for supper . Habits as deeply rooted as that must hold , even in after-life . To-night 's six-thirty stampede was noticeably subdued on the part of Pa and Al. . It had been a day of sudden and enervating heat , and the city had done its worst to them .