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"Soon it will be fall, and you will go to school," she said. "Now is the time to learn things of the house. Girls should not learn too much of books. It is not good for them. I knew a girl who could read hard books with very long words, and what came of it? It made her no fairer to look upon, and her father had to give a large dowry to get her married. Often I saw her at midday with a book in her hand and the house not half neat. Do you think it pleased her husband? His time was spent in the coffee-house, where it was pleasant and people talked instead of reading. It is best for women to talk and spin and cook; these things are of some account. Men cannot do them, so leave to men the books."
So Zoe learned much and worked happily, but played also. Petro was a delightful playmate, and the two ran and raced in the sun, happy and gay. To be sure they got into mischief. Petro could think of more things to do in a minute than poor little Zoe could in an hour. She never intended to be naughty, which, however, could not be said of her cousin. He enjoyed more than anything finding out what would happen if he did things, and he dragged Zoe with him into many a scrape, knowing that he was not likely to be punished if she was with him in any iniquity.
He was really the village mischief, but so friendly a little chap, with such an engaging smile for all the world that he seldom got his deserts. To be sure, he was a kind-hearted boy, and his mischief seldom hurt anybody. He tied a bell to the wrong goat so that the herd which brought milk to the village (for the goats were milked in the streets every morning instead of the milk being carried around in a cart) went blindly after the bell-goat and lost itself by going to the wrong stable. Another day Petro persuaded Zoe to fish, and left her to watch the lines while he went off and forgot all about her in some new prank. She caught a devil-fish, and as Petro had told her on no account to let go of the line if she had a bite, but to pull in as fast as she could, when she felt a pull at the hook she obediently pulled in the horrid thing. Then she screamed in fright.
"It is the Old Get Away From Here!"23 she screamed. "Petro! Petro!" Naughty Petro was far away and did not hear. The beast was black, with long legs which wriggled and squirmed and sprawled over the sand until she was sick with horror. It seemed like a dozen snakes all joined to one body, and Zoe had never seen anything so horrible. It tried to reach the water, and the little girl thought it was coming for her. She screamed again in such an agony of fright that a man passing ran to see what was the matter.
"It's surely the Old Get Away From Here I have caught!" she cried. "Oh, please take him off my hook and throw him back into the sea."
"It is but a devil-fish, child," he said. "They are good to eat. I will take him off and kill him for you, and you will then have a good dinner."
"Oh, I could not eat it!" said Zoe. "Thank you ever so much," and she took her lines and ran home to Aunt Angeliké. That good woman threatened dire things to Petro, but as he was not on hand to receive them she had forgotten all about it when he did appear. Truth to tell, Petro seldom received a back judgment that was due him, for there was always one right at hand, so that the past was overlooked.
The next scrape which overtook Zoe was of a more serious nature. She and Petro had gone one day to burn a candle in the little church, it being Zoe's saint's day. This accomplished, they sat down to rest under the great tree which held the church bell. These tree campaniles are often found in Greece and are very quaint and pretty. The bell hangs aloft under a little wooden roof, and is rung by means of a bell-rope which hangs down among the branches.
It was hot and Zoe was tired with the long walk up the hill.
"Let's take a little nap," she said to Petro.
"Very well!" said that youngster. If Zoe had not been so sleepy she would have suspected that Petro's unusual readiness to keep quiet meant that he was planning to do something especially naughty. But she merely thought he was tired, and closing her eyes, was soon sound asleep.
No sooner was he sure of her slumbers than Petro climbed up in the tree to see what the great bell was like. He had always wanted to do it but had never had a chance before. It was not very exciting up there, however, and he climbed down again. Then it occurred to him that it would be interesting to tie Zoe up with the bell-rope and see what she would do. So very cautiously, for fear of waking her, he tied the rope around her waist. Then he thought better of it and tried to untie it, but he had made the knot too tight and in working at it he wakened Zoe. She sprang to her feet, and in so doing pulled the bell-rope. The church bell rang with a wild clamour, Papa Demetrios came rushing from his house to see what was the matter, after him came the papadia24 and all the children, while from the village a troop of urchins, followed by older people, came hastily up the hill.
"Is it a fire?" they called. "Has news come from the king?" cried another. "What is wrong in the village?" cried Papa Demetrios. Nobody could give any answer to these questions, and poor Zoe meanwhile rang the bell louder and louder in her efforts to free herself from the strange thing that bound her. At last she tripped over the rope, fell, and sat in a heap on the ground, crying bitterly, but otherwise quiet. So was the bell. So were all the people. Then Papa Demetrios spoke very sternly.
"What does all this mean?" Nobody answered, for nobody knew. At last Petro spoke.
"If you please," he said in a low voice, "I think it is my fault."
"Did you ring the bell?" demanded the priest.
"No," said Petro. Then with an air of engaging frankness, "but I caused Zoe to ring it. You see, I tied her to the bell-rope."
"You are a – " Papa Demetrios' words failed him. "I have said that the boy who rang this bell should be whipped."
"Yes," Petro's tone was respectful, but his eyes were dancing, "but Zoe is not a boy."
"That is true." The priest's face wore a puzzled look. He glanced at Zoe, now standing before him tear-stained and shame-faced; he looked at Petro. Then memory took the kind old priest back to the days when he himself had been the village mischief, and Petro met his eyes and found therein an answering gleam.
"You are a naughty boy!" said Papa Demetrios. "But since you have told the truth and not had the meanness to hide behind a girl, you shall not be punished this time. Tell your cousin that you are sorry for what you have done to her, and beware that you do not touch my rope again."
"Yes, your Grace," said the boy. "But why do you let your rope hang down just where any boy would want to ring it?"
"That I do not know," said the priest, with again the twinkle in his eye. "I suppose it is too much for meddlesome fingers. Hereafter we shall remedy that." So he cut the rope off so short that no one could reach it, and he made a pole with a hook in the end with which to reach it himself, which pole he kept in the priest's house, so that no boys rang the church bell thereafter. And people went back to their work, shaking their heads and saying, "What will become of Petro Averoff? He will grow up to be a vagabond." To which one answered,
"Doubtless he will go to America, so it will matter little!"
Aunt Angeliké was anything but pleased with Petro's escapade and said severely,
"You are indeed a naughty boy. You shall be punished by staying home tomorrow while I take Zoe to the currant picking."
"Oh, mother!" Petro's face fell.
"Oh, Aunt Angeliké!" cried Zoe. "Please let him go! I would not enjoy it without him. Besides – " she added in a whisper – "what do you suppose he would do in mischief if you left him behind?"
"God only knows," she responded. "Really, I dare not leave him." But aloud she said, "Since your cousin insists, I shall take you," and Petro grinned, for the whispers had by no means been lost to him.
The time of currants is one of the happiest seasons for little Grecian children, for the fruit is delicious and it hangs in great clusters upon the bushes. The fruit is called "Corenth," named from the city of Corinth, and the currant trade is among the best in Greece, over a hundred and seventy tons being gathered each year.
The currant bushes are planted in rows three feet apart, like the Italian grape-vines, and grow on a single stalk which is trimmed down each year so that the roots may be strengthened.
Shoots spring up in March and April, and by the last of August the bushes are loaded with fruit, light and dark varieties. Women break the earth and heap it around the bushes during the growing season, indeed, women do much of the field work in Greece, and it seems to agree with them, for Grecian women are nearly always healthy, though this may be due to the beautiful climate.
Both drought and rain are bad for the currant crop, and the heavy winds often blow the fruit off the bushes, but even with these drawbacks, the currants are sent to England, America and France, besides the Mediterranean countries, and the finest currants in the world come from Greece.
Zoe helped her aunt with the picking, for Uncle Andreas owned a currant plot, and everybody was needed to help get the fruit in after it was ripe. It was a delightful outing into the country for the little girl, and she enjoyed the picking and the lunch in the open air, which they ate seated upon blocks of white marble, the ruins of what had once been a beautiful temple. Petro was on his good behaviour and did nothing worse than fall off a column and scratch his nose, and a fall from Petro was such an everyday occurrence that no one, least of all the boy himself, paid any attention to it.
"Well, child," said her aunt, as they went homeward that night. "Have to-day's pleasures made up for yesterday?"
"Oh, yes, indeed. I have had a beautiful time," said Zoe. "Thank you ever so much for taking me to see the currant picking."
CHAPTER X
A HAPPY EASTER
It was Easter time. All through the winter with its strict Lenten fast, Zoe had looked forward to the feast, while Petro had kept the fast days under his mother's strict supervision until he said he was ready "to eat a lamb's bones for Easter breakfast." All Grecians eat lamb at Easter time, and from every house in the village on Holy Saturday can be heard the bleating of imprisoned sacrifices ready to be slain for the morrow's festivities.
Uncle Andreas and Marco were to be at home in the early morning, and Zoe was happy in the thought of seeing them. The little house was clean and neat, and Zoe with a light heart followed Aunt Angeliké up the hill to the church, whose bells called sleepily to the midnight Mass.
Bright were the stars, and in the sky soft as the ocean, the moon full and radiant in beauty. The climb to the church at the top of the hill was steep, but many of their friends were climbing too, for all the villagers turned out to the service, since no Grecian would willingly miss it.
They reached the open square before the church just as the Mass began. Zoe entered behind her aunt and kissed the eikon at the door, taking from the server a long taper of yellow wax and holding it unlighted, as did everyone else. Then the priest came to the altar carrying a lighted taper, and all the altar boys, of whom Petro was one, scrambled excitedly to see who could get his candle lighted first. Petro was the lucky one, and it was his proud duty to light the candles of the waiting worshippers.
When all were lighted the priest led the procession, every one bearing his taper alight, out into the square. Zoe thought she had never seen anything so wonderful as the square all aglow with dancing, flickering lights, in the centre the catafalque of Christ draped in deepest black. Upon this had been laid the cross with the image of Christ sawed out of a flat board with the face painted on it. The Greek Church does not approve of the use of statues, taking literally the verse of Scripture, "Thou shalt not make unto thee any graven image," and this painted figure is the nearest to an image ever used in the Grecian churches.
The choir was singing their minor chants, the censers were swinging back and forth in a cloud of incense, the candles were flaring and flickering. As soon as one went out a bystander gave of his holy fire and it was relighted. One by one the worshippers came forward, knelt and kissed the cloth which covered the catafalque, blessing themselves as Papa Demetrios sprinkled them with holy water, and all the time the strange, rhythmic chant of the choir continued.
Zoe prayed earnestly and gave little heed to the service, so that she did not notice that in the crowd she was separated from her aunt. It was nearly time for the close of the service and she felt in her pocket to see if she had her hard-boiled egg. It would be a dreadful thing if she had forgotten it. But it was there, and she smiled to herself that the happy day would soon come.
All over Greece, in every province, thousands of Grecians break a hard-boiled egg when the bells ring on Easter morning, a custom which has been handed down for centuries. The Grecians say that one must always eat hard-boiled eggs on Easter morning, and bowls of them are found in every house on that day. The custom arose in memory of a miracle performed when the Turks ruled in Greece. A Turkish woman was carrying an apronful of eggs on Easter day and was met by a Grecian who politely saluted the infidel, "Christ is risen!"
"Risen indeed!" said the unbeliever. "I shall never believe that until these eggs in my apron have turned red."
"Open thine apron and see!" said the Grecian, blessing herself as she spoke, and lo! the eggs were red as blood! The unbeliever straightway believed, and from that day red eggs have been eaten at Easter.
Suddenly Papa Demetrios raised his hand and blessed the people, saying in a loud voice, "Christos Aneste!" Immediately the bell-ringer seized the bell-rope which hung from the great tree beside the church, and rang the bell in a wild and joyous clamour. All over the land, far and near, other bells were rung, and from every voice on the square went up the glad shout, "Christ is risen! Christ is risen!" Boys threw torpedoes at the white walls of the church and in the distance could be heard the sound of guns and fire-crackers, and everywhere was the wildest joy.
Zoe's taper suddenly went out.
"Aunt Angeliké," she said, "please light my taper." Her aunt did not answer, and looking hastily over her shoulder, Zoe saw that she was not there and around her surged the crowd. For a moment she was frightened, then she said to herself,
"There is nothing to fear. I must not be afraid. I shall soon find her," and she turned here and there, but could find no trace at all of her aunt.
"Can she have started home without me?" she thought, and tried to reach the edge of the crowd. Her foot caught against a branch of olive thrown down, and she stumbled and would have fallen had not a strong arm caught her.
"Oh, thank you," she cried as she struggled to her feet, to find herself in the grasp of a bearded stranger who looked at her so strangely that she wondered what was the matter.
"Your name, child, what is your name?" he demanded.
"My name is Zoe Averoff," she said. "I must find my aunt. Please let me go." He held her arm so tightly and looked at her so strangely that she was frightened.
"I shall never let you go!" he exclaimed. "Zoe! Zoe! do you not know me?" Something in the voice seemed strangely familiar. She looked into his face, into the dark eyes which looked with such love and longing into hers, then she gave a glad cry,
"My father! oh, my father!" and his arms closed around her.
"Such a happy Easter!" said Aunt Angeliké, as Sunday morning dawned clear and beautiful. "My husband and Marco at home, Zoe's father come back to the child, Petro behaving not worse than usual and the Easter lamb roasting a perfect brown as I baste it with the lemon dipped in lard."
"Was it not wonderful that my father found me at Easter time?" said Zoe, a strangely radiant Zoe, with shining eyes and brilliant cheeks. "He had been ill for weeks in a strange place they call Chicago. There he met a Grecian from Argolis and from him he heard that the news had come from Thessaly that my mother and I were dead. At that he did not want to return home, but he wrote several times to Uncle Georgios to hear of us and had no answer. Of course those letters never came. At first he sold things from a little cart in the streets. Then he saved money and with another Grecian he had a shop with flowers to sell. The Americans are strange people. They have money to throw away! They buy fruit and flowers all the time. Think of so strange a country where one buys what here one may take with but a 'thank you' for pay! In the flower shop he made much money. But he was always sad. The money was of little good, since he had no one to share it with. Then he grew very homesick. He wanted once more to see Argolis and to sail on the blue seas of Greece. So he sold his flowers to his partner and took all his drachmas and returned home. He thought to spend his Easter here and go then to Thessaly to hear of my mother and myself and how we came to die. Then as Papa Demetrios said, 'Christ is risen!' lo! there was I risen from the dead."
"I thought it was a miracle," said her father. "For though the child is grown older, she is just like the Zoe whom I left, and to see alive her whom I thought dead was indeed a marvel."
"Shall you return to that far land?" asked Uncle Andreas, "and take Zoe from us?"
"Not so," said Zoe's father. "I shall stay here and have a fishing-boat, for home is best and I think Zoe would not be happy so far away."
"I am glad you will not take her from us," Aunt Angeliké said sweetly. "I have learned to love her as my daughter."
"I am glad, too," said Marco, and Uncle Andreas laid his hand upon her curls, saying, "We all love the child."
Zoe smiled happily and nestled up to her father.
"Such a happy, happy Easter," she said. "I have nothing in all the world to wish for."
"Then wish for dinner," said Petro. "It seems to me that lamb will never be done."
"You are a Turk!" said his mother, laughing, and all laughed too, all except Petro, for his mother had called him the very worst thing which one can call our little Grecian Cousin.
THE END1
Pet name for a baby as we would say "Babykins."
2
Sumadhe is a sweetmeat and mastika a cordial.
3
The Grecian equivalent of "Pattycake, pattycake."
4
Loukoumi is a paste made of sweet gums, sugar, rosewater and nuts.
5
Dowry.
6
Wedding things.
7
A Grecian coin worth about twenty cents.
8
God-father.
9
Small copper coin.
10
All Holy One.
11
Brigands.
12
Holy virgin.
13
Welcome.
14
How do you do?
15
Well?
16
Said to avert the evil eye.
17
A kind of paste eaten on fast days.
18
A sea food.
19
Dying.
20
Butterfly, a Grecian superstition being that the soul becomes a butterfly after death.
21
Grecian wine with resin in it.
22
A Grecian fish.
23
Grecian way of speaking of the Evil One.
24
Priest's wife.