five o'clock
Neville , at five o'clock -LRB- Nature 's time , not man 's -RRB- on the morning of her birthday , woke from the dream-broken sleep of summer dawns , hot with the burden of two sheets and a blanket , roused by the multitudinous silver calling of a world full of birds . They chattered and bickered about the creepered house , shrill and sweet , like a hundred brooks running together down steep rocky places after snow . And , not like brooks , and strangely unlike birds , like , in fact , nothing in the world except a cuckoo clock , a cuckoo shouted foolishly in the lowest boughs of the great elm across the silver lawn . Neville turned on her face , cupped her small , pale , tanned face in her sunburnt hands , and looked out with sleepy violet eyes .