Three o'clock
Three o'clock on a dank afternoon , early in November . The wintry sunshine , in fitful gleams , pierced the greyness of the leaden sky . The great trees in Shenstone Park stood gaunt and bare , spreading wide arms over the sodden grass . All nature seemed waiting the first fall of winter 's snow , which should hide its deadness and decay under a lovely pall of sparkling white , beneath which a promise of fresh life to come might gently move and stir ; and , eventually , spring forth .