a quarter after six
The monotonous tick of an old clock is the only sound , saving the longdrawn sigh of that young mother , or the quick , hollow breathing of the sleeping man . Now and then the wind whistles more shrilly through the crevices of the door , and the rain beats with greater force against the little window . The mother draws still nearer to the few red embers , and turns a timid glance to the window and then to the bed : another sigh , and then the overburdened heart overflows at her eyes , and the large bright drops fall quickly on that dearly loved infant . The church clock chimes a quarter after six -- this rouses the mother once more to set aside her own griefs ; the wind still howls , and the rain beats with unabated fury against the glass : her thoughts are of those little ones , and a tremor passes over her as she fears lest they should be shut out . The man moves wearily in his bed , and opening his eyes , he looks towards his wife . She is at his side in an instant . `` Have they gooan , Bessy ? ''