a quarter to ten
It was Sunday morning . At eight o'clock the bell had sounded out over the green slopes , and even late sleepers were called to put on their best garments , whether church-goers or not church-goers , in honour of the holy day or holiday , as it might happen to be kept in their home . Then came the second ringing , when prudent , far-away worshippers took psalm-book and pocket-handkerchief in hand and started demurely , at a Sunday pace , for the house of God . At a quarter to ten the clergyman had been seen in the dim distance , and the fact was announced by `` priest-ringing . '' At ten came the `` assembly-ringing , '' when talkers in the churchyard must break off in the midst of a half-made bargain , or check the but half-expressed sympathy with the joy or sorrow of some fellow-rustic with whom there had been a confidential chat . Within , the church was all white , with here and there a gilded line like a bright , holy purpose running through a simple everyday life . There was a fresh , pure air about the place , as if even angels might have gathered there in their fair garments .