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 END.
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=Peggy's Trial.= By Mary Knight Potter.
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=Seventh Daughter, A.= By Grace Wickham Curran.
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WHO WERE THE LITTLE COLONEL'S NEIGHBORS.
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=The Story of Dago.=
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=The Quilt That Jack Built.=
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=Flip's Islands of Providence.=
A story of a boy's life battle, his early defeat, and his final
triumph, well worth the reading.
_By EDITH ROBINSON_
=A Little Puritan's First Christmas.=
A Story of Colonial times in Boston, telling how Christmas was invented
by Betty Sewall, a typical child of the Puritans, aided by her brother
Sam.
=A Little Daughter of Liberty.=
The author introduces this story as follows:
"One ride is memorable in the early history of the American Revolution,
the well-known ride of Paul Revere. Equally deserving of commendation
is another ride,--the ride of Anthony Severn,--which was no less
historic in its action or memorable in its consequences."
=A Loyal Little Maid.=
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=A Little Puritan Rebel.=
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=A Little Puritan Pioneer.=
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=A Little Puritan Bound Girl.=
A story of Boston in Puritan days, which is of great interest to
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The story of a "Little Puritan Cavalier" who tried with all his boyish
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=A Puritan Knight Errant.=
The story tells of a young lad in Colonial times who endeavored to
carry out the high ideals of the knights of olden days.
_By OUIDA_ (_Louise de la Ramée_)
=A Dog of Flanders=: A CHRISTMAS STORY.
Too well and favorably known to require description.
=The Nurnberg Stove.=
This beautiful story has never before been published at a popular price.
_By FRANCES MARGARET FOX_
=The Little Giant's Neighbours.=
A charming nature story of a "little giant" whose neighbours were the
creatures of the field and garden.
=Farmer Brown and the Birds.=
A little story which teaches children that the birds are man's best
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=Betty of Old Mackinaw.=
A charming story of child-life, appealing especially to the little
readers who like stories of "real people."
=Brother Billy.=
The story of Betty's brother, and some further adventures of Betty
herself.
=Mother Nature's Little Ones.=
Curious little sketches describing the early lifetime, or "childhood,"
of the little creatures out-of-doors.
=How Christmas Came to the Mulvaneys.=
A bright, lifelike little story of a family of poor children, with an
unlimited capacity for fun and mischief. The wonderful never-to-be
forgotten Christmas that came to them is the climax of a series of
exciting incidents.
* * * * *
Transcriber's Note: Obvious punctuation errors repaired.
End of Project Gutenberg's Our Little Grecian Cousin, by Mary F. Nixon-Roulet