nine
o'clock
Upstairs a loosened shutter banged intermittently under the impact of the wind , which howled past , to lose itself with great commotion in the tops of the tall evergreens in the churchyard . It was the sort of day when untoward events , near and far , stand out with unpleasant prominence against the background of one 's everyday life . A day in which a man is led , whether he will or not , to take stock of himself and to balance with some care the credit and debit sides of his ledger . Wesley Elliot had been working diligently on his sermon since nine o'clock that morning , at which hour he had deserted Mrs. Solomon Black 's comfortable tight roof , to walk under the inadequate shelter of a leaking umbrella to the parsonage . Three closely written pages in the minister 's neat firm handwriting attested his uninterrupted diligence . At the top of the fourth page he set a careful numeral , under it wrote `` Thirdly , '' then paused , laid down his pen , yawned wearily and gazed out at the dripping shrubbery . The rain had come too late to help the farmers , he was thinking .