nine
o'clock
I had a question to ask you nobody else could answer . '' As Terry turned to him with somber mien he concluded , his eyes twinkling : `` I wanted to know if it was the best fox ever ! '' And that was all , though Terry stayed to sup with him . Till nine o'clock they sat before the fire , the priest in a worn rocker drawn up close to the hearth : the single log burning glorified his fine old face as he placidly rocked and pondered . He had spent the morning among his foreign parishioners , who lived in the squalid section of the town , across the river . A frugal , law-abiding lot , they furnished the brawn needed in the three pulp factories and lived a life apart from the balance of the towns-people , bitterly but voicelessly resenting the villagers ' careless ostracism of all who came under the easy classification of the term `` wop . '' There existed a tacit agreement among property owners that no house north of the river should be sold or leased to a foreigner , and that no garlic might taint the atmosphere their children breathed in school , they had erected a small schoolhouse upon the southside .