about five minutes to
eight
`` Now , Master Cyril , '' Amy protested , `` will you leave that fire alone ? It 's not you that can mend my fires . '' A boy of nine , great and heavy for his years , with a full face and very short hair , bent over the smoking grate . It was about five minutes to eight on a chilly morning after Easter . Amy , hastily clad in blue , with a rough brown apron , was setting the breakfast table . The boy turned his head , still bending . `` Shut up , Ame , '' he replied , smiling .