six o'clock
She wore no stays , and her gown , which trailed unevenly behind , rose in a sort of peak over her abdomen . She wore ill-fitting false teeth , and her skin was as yellow as a Mongolian 's from constant exposure to a pitiless wind and to the alkaline water which hardens the most transparent cuticle into a sort of flexible leather . I owed to this woman most of the good that ever came my way in my boyhood , and had a reverential affection for her . During the years when I was riding herd for my uncle , my aunt , after cooking the three meals -- the first of which was ready at six o'clock in the morning-and putting the six children to bed , would often stand until midnight at her ironing board , with me at the kitchen table beside her , hearing me recite Latin declensions and conjugations , gently shaking me when my drowsy head sank down over a page of irregular verbs . It was to her , at her ironing or mending , that I read my first Shakespeare ' , and her old textbook on mythology was the first that ever came into my empty hands . She taught me my scales and exercises , too -- on the little parlor organ , which her husband had bought her after fifteen years , during which she had not so much as seen any instrument , but an accordion that belonged to one of the Norwegian farmhands . She would sit beside me by the hour , darning and counting while I struggled with the `` Joyous Farmer , '' but she seldom talked to me about music , and I understood why .