four o'clock in the afternoon
Broad piazzas draped in vines ran all around the lower story , and the upper revealed itself only in white glimpses among dense masses of foliage . And what did it matter that outside the place there were brown sand-hills and pale-sailed ships ? A high hedge of myrtles hid it in a large garden full of the scents of the sun-burnt South -- a garden of fragrant beauty , where one might dream idly all day long . It was four o'clock in the afternoon of an August day , and every thing was still ; only the _ cicadas _ ran from hedge to hedge telling each other , in clear resonant voices , how hot it was . The house door stood open , but all the green jalousies were closed , and not a breath of air stirred the lace curtains hanging motionless before the windows . The rooms , large and lofty , were in a dusky light , their atmosphere still and warm and heavy with the scent of flowers . On the back piazza half a dozen negro children were sleeping in all sorts of picturesque attitudes , a bright mulatto women was dozing in a rocking-chair , and the cook , having `` fixed '' his dinner ready for the stove , had rolled himself in his blanket on the kitchen floor .