three in the afternoon
`` In the space , then , intervening between the laurels and the terminal wall my father dug a grave two spits deep and interred the corpse , covering it with a light compost of loam and leaf-mould . This was on a Wednesday -- the second Wednesday in July , as he was always particular to mention . -LRB- And I have heard him tell the story a score of times . -RRB- `` On the Sunday week , at half-past three in the afternoon , my father had finished his pipe and was laying it down , before covering his head -LRB- as his custom was -RRB- with a silk handkerchief to protect his slumber from the flies , when , happening to glance towards the shrubbery , he espied a remarkably fine crimson hollyhock overtopping the laurels . He rubbed his eyes . He had invested in past years many a shilling in hollyhock seed , but never till now had a plant bloomed in his garden . `` He rubbed his eyes , I say .