the hour
of four
He hated not to understand everything that was going on in the school . He longed to ask me what I knew about it , but , according to his habit , generously forbore , lest he should lead me to tell tales upon my fellows . For , though actually junior assistant to my father , I was still a scholar , which made my position difficult indeed . To me it seemed as if the clock on the wall above the fireplace would never strike the hour of four . At last -- at last ! The door between the seniors and Mr. Stephen 's juniors was thrown open . My father , making his usual formal bow to his assistant , said , `` When you are ready , Mr. Stephen ! ''