"Drink a little vinegar, it will calm your rage!"
Mattina did not answer; she shouldered the water pitcher, took
Zacharia by the hand, and went out again, out through the dark arch
to the Market Square for water.
"'Attina!" and there was still a little sob in poor Zacharia's voice.
"Yes, my little bird."
"My koulou'i is nearly finished."
"Eat it slowly then," advised the big sister. "And if you only knew
what a good thing I have for you to-morrow!"
But to-morrow meant nothing to Zacharia.
"What, 'Attina? What? Give it to me!"
"Not now. To-morrow. Come then! Come and see all the little boats!"
When they reached the square, Mattina sat down to rest for a moment on
the deep stone trough built round the fountain under the old eucalyptus
tree. Most of the women had already filled their red earthen pitchers
and were carrying them away on their shoulders.
Only one old woman was still leaning against the trunk of the tree,
waiting for her pitcher to fill itself. As she saw Mattina she
stepped forward.
"It is well I find you. Tell your aunt that the clothes are
finished. She can send you to take them."
"I will tell it to her."
"It is to-morrow you leave?"
"Yes, it is to-morrow."
"And who takes you?"
"I go with Yanni, the messenger."
"Listen, Mattina," said the old woman, "I have stitched you a pocket
into the brown frock. In the town it is not like here; sometimes you
may have some money, or someone may send you a letter; you must have
somewhere to put things."
Mattina's eyes brightened.
"A pocket!" she exclaimed, "like the big maids have!"
"You are well nigh a big maid now!"
The word pocket reminded Mattina of her sugared almonds.
"Kyra Sophoula," she begged, "see, I have some sweets here. A sailor
gave them to me, he said they were from a christening. Take them,
you, and hide them away, and to-morrow after I go, take this little
one to your house for a while, and give them to him. He cries when I
leave him; and the others at the house, they torment him always. Do
this for me, and may your children live to you!"
The old woman took the twist of muslin and put it into her apron
pocket.
"Surely, I will, my daughter, surely I will." Then she lifted her
pitcher which had filled, gurgled, and overflowed, set it carefully
on the ledge, and turned to Zacharia who was struggling for what
remained of his koulouri, with a woolly black puppy.
"Come here, you little one!"
Kyra Sophoula was a funny old woman, as brown and as wrinkled as a
quince that has been hung up too long, but children never ran away
from her, even the tiny ones. Zacharia successfully rescued the last
remnant of the koulouri from the puppy's teeth, and came, looking up
at her with round black baby eyes.
"If a good little boy who does not cry ... a golden little boy, comes
with me to my house to-morrow, I shall have ... two sugar comfits,
and a whole dried fig to give him! And if this golden little child
never cries at all, there will be some more comfits the next day! I
wonder if I shall find a good little boy, like that?"
Zacharia rubbed his black curls confidingly against the old woman's
skirts, and murmured:--
"Me!"
"Ah, we shall see fine things, that golden boy and I!" then turning
to Mattina:--
"Tell me; your uncle Anastasi and his wife, have they found a good
house in which you may serve?"
"Not yet; my uncle sent a letter to say that it would be better if I
did not go till September, because there are more people who change
servants at that time, but my uncle Yoryi here, he says that I must
go to my uncle Anastasi's now at once, and let them find a house for
me to serve, when they can. He says he will keep the little one, but
that I am a big girl, and that he has fed me long enough. It is true,"
she added gravely, "that my hunger is great."
Kyra Sophoula nodded her head.
"Yoryi is a poor man," she said, "also, he has daughters to marry."
"Is it far to Athens?" asked Mattina.
"Myself--I have never been there, but Metro has told me that one does
not reach the town till long after noon."
"Kyra Sophoula, do you think that after some time, when I earn money
and can pay the fare on the steamer myself, that where I serve they
will let me return for a few days to see if the little one be well?"
The old woman shrugged her shoulders.
"Do I know?"
"But if I tell them how little he is, and that we have no mother?"
"Listen, my daughter!" said Kyra Sophoula, as both she and Mattina
shouldered their pitchers and turned towards the dark arch, Zacharia
pattering behind them on little bare brown feet, "listen! there is
one thing that you must put well into your head, that in the town
it is not like here on the island, where everyone knows you and
who your father and mother were. I know, because Andriana served,
and Calliope served, and my Maroussa served also for a time. In the
town when they take you as a servant and pay you a wage for serving,
it is work that they want from you, as much as they can get. They do
not know you, nor do they mind whether you like to work, nor whether
you are well or ill, as long as your legs will hold you; neither do
they care whether your heart be glad or troubled. But you, you must
remember always that your father was a good man, and that your mother
was a hard-working housewife who always kept her floors well scrubbed,
and kneaded her own bread, and for whom all had a good word; and you
must do the work that they give you, and not be thinking all day long
of when you can leave it. As for the child, be easy! Kyra Kanella has
not a bad heart, and I will see him often, and perhaps some time when
the schoolmaster has leisure I will ask him to send you a letter. But
you, be a good girl in the town, and mind well that you never touch
aught without it be given to you, even if you have to go hungry,
for as they say, 'Better to lose your eye than your good name.'"