six o'clock
The sun rose without a cloud . Now there is a golden haze hanging over the plain , and glints as of living flame on the flanks of the mountains . From all sides crowds are pressing toward Lucca . Before six o'clock every high-road is alive . Down from the highest mountain-top of Pizzorna , overlooking Florence and its vine-garlanded campagna , comes the hermit , brown-draped , in hood and mantle ; staff in hand , he trudges along the dusty road . And down , too , from his native lair among the pigs and the poultry , comes the black-eyed , black-skinned , matted-haired urchin , who makes mud pies under the tufted ilex-trees at Ponte a Moriano , and swears at the hermit . They come !