seven o'clock
I sha 'n' t have dinner on the stroke -- not ` fore half-past one . '' `` You goin ' ? '' called Isabel Wilde from the road , to Ardelia , sitting forlornly on the front steps . It was seven o'clock of a wonderful August morning , with all the bloom of summer and the lull of fall . Isabel was a dark , strong young creature who walked with her head in the air , and Ardelia , pretty and frail and perfect in her own small way , looked like a child in comparison . Isabel had been down to carry a frosted cake to her little niece Ellen , for Ellen 's share of the picnic at Poole 's Woods . It was Fairfax day , when once a year all Fairfax went to the spot where the first settlers drank of the `` b ` ilin ' spring '' on their way to a clearing .