a quarter to
five
That seemed all she could do , except to sit and watch him , getting up occasionally to put wood on the fire , or going to the door to listen , in hopes of hearing papa 's step in the path . The parcel lay on the table where the stranger had put it . She looked at it , and looked at it , and then at the clock . It was a quarter to five . Again the broken , dreamy voice muttered : `` It must go , -- it must go . '' A sudden , generous impulse seized her . `` I 'll take it myself ! ''