six o'clock
Still it preyed on Wilson 's mind to be so long indebted to his son . He was out of spirits and depressed . Barton was morose , and soured towards mankind as a body , and the rich in particular . One evening , when the clear light at six o'clock contrasted strangely with the Christmas cold , and when the bitter wind piped down every entry , and through every cranny , Barton sat brooding over his stinted fire , and listening for Mary 's step , in unacknowledged trust that her presence would cheer him . The door was opened , and Wilson came breathless in . `` You 've not got a bit o ' money by you , Barton ? '' asked he .