one o'clock
she called . `` You bring up a dozen apples , Bald ` ins . I 'll fry them , too . '' Something past one o'clock , they sat down together to as strange a meal as the little kitchen had ever seen . Bread and butter were lacking , but there was quince preserve , drawn from some hidden hoard , the apples and pork , and smoking tea . Mrs. Wadleigh 's spirits rose . Home was even better than her dreams had pictured it .