Nine o'Clock
"What time is it?" she asked, adjusting her spectacles carefully upon the ever-useful and unfailing wart.
"A little after nine."
"Sakes alive! It's time I was abed. I've got to get up early in the mornin' and set my bread. Good-night."
"Good-night, Mother."
"Don't set up long. Oil is terrible high."
"All right, Mother."
Miss Mattie went upstairs and closed her door with a resounding bang. Roger heard her strike a match on a bit of sandpaper tacked on the wall near the match-safe, and close the green blinds that served the purpose of the more modern window-shades. Soon, a deep, regular sound suggestive of comfortable slumber echoed and re-echoed overhead. Then, and then only, he dared to go out.
A Light in the Window
He sat on the narrow front porch for a few minutes, deeply breathing the cool air and enjoying the beauty of the night. Across the way, the little grey house seemed lonely and forlorn. The upper windows were dark, but downstairs Barbara's lamp still shone.