But it was not long ere the much expected sound of Mistress Croale's voice heralded the hour for patience to blossom into possession.

The voice was neither loud nor harsh, but clear and firm; the noise that followed was both loud and strident.
Voices had a part in it, but the movement of chairs and feet and the sudden contact of different portions of the body with walls and tables, had a larger.

The guests were obeying the voice of their hostess all in one like a flock of sheep, but it was poor shepherd-work to turn them out of the fold at midnight.

Gibbie bounded up and stood still as a statue at the very door-cheek, until he heard Mistress Croale's hand upon the lock, when he bolted, trembling with eagerness, into the entry of a court a few houses nearer to the Widdiehill.
One after one the pitiable company issued from its paradise, and each stumbled away, too far gone for leave-taking.

Most of them passed Gibbie where he stood, but he took no heed; his father was always the last--and the least capable.