three in the morning
And Eleanor , still in the yellow satin , sat at her desk scribbling aimlessly on a pad of paper or staring at a clean sheet , which began , `` My dear father . '' She had meant to write him that she was tired of college and wanted to come home at once ; but somehow she could n't begin . For she thought , `` I can see him raise his eyebrows and smile and say , ` so you want to throw up the sponge , do you ? I was under the impression that you had promised to stay out the year , ' as he did to the private secretary who would n't sit up with him till three in the morning to write letters . '' Finally she tore up `` My dear father , '' and went to bed in the dark . The next day was just the sort that everybody had been hoping for on Mountain Day , -- crisp and clear and cool , with the inspiriting tang in the air , the delicious warmth in the sunshine , and the soft haze over the hills , that belong to nothing but a New England October at its best . The Chapin house breakfast-table was unusually lively , for each girl wanted to tell what she thought about the reception and how she was going to spend Mountain Day ; and nobody seemed anxious to listen to anybody 's else story .