nine o'clock
`` Good-by , Miss Ruth , and Sally , good-by , '' modulating my voice to accents of grief , and making a `` cheese . '' They retreated with a less staid pace than usual , and I sought Aunt Mercy , who was preparing the Sunday 's dinner . Twilight drew near , and the Sunday 's clouds began to fall on my spirits . Between sundown and nine o'clock was a tedious interval . I was not allowed to go to bed , nor to read a secular book , or to amuse myself with anything . A dim oil-lamp burned on the high shelf of the middle room , our ordinary gathering-place . Aunt Mercy sat there , rocking in a low chair ; the doors were open , and I wandered softly about .