"You may be a Zamana as much as you like; you are a coward all the
same!" and even Nikias had echoed jeeringly:--
"Coward! Coward!"
And then Pavlo had fled blindly to the shelter of the dark little wood.
He longed, as he lay there sobbing, that it might be possible never
to see any of them again. For he had found out from the first that
for the Four the great rule was, "Never be afraid, and if you are,
mind you hide it!" Of course they knew that Nikias shirked being
dipped far down, or being held long under water. That was a family
misfortune, never mentioned before strangers, but on the other hand
even Nikias had only two days ago boldly attacked a long snake when
it glided out of a thick bush, round which Philos had been sniffing
for so long. He had struck at it with all his might on its flat head,
and while Anneza, the Andriote serving maid, had picked up her skirts
knee-high and fled down the hillside shrieking loud enough to be
heard over at Galata, he had followed, his little long face flushed
with triumph, his socks hanging over his shoes, and the corpse of
the victim dangling horribly at the end of a long stick.
"Were you not afraid, you little one?" his father had asked; and
Nikias answered that he had been just a little afraid when it raised
its head and hissed, but that Chryseis was so stupid that he knew she
would never sit comfortably under the big pine again with her book,
if she felt there were a snake, however harmless, wriggling about
in the bushes beside her, so that he had to kill it all the same;
did they not understand? And the mother of the Four had looked rather
proud, and the father had said:--
"Of course I understand."
And Nikias was not yet eight years old, and he, Pavlo, was over eleven!
So he lay there and sobbed, till Chryseis found him out and sat beside
him, and expressed her energetic opinion that her brothers were "Pigs"
because, of course, as she said, Pavlo had always lived in Athens, and
how was he to know that those fierce-looking sheep dogs only require
a stone thrown at them to run away; she even succeeded in making him
laugh a little, by relating how Andromache had once, when she was
quite little, called an officer who had offended her in some way "A
green pig!" No one had understood why, but the insult had evidently
been intended to be terrible. Then Chryseis had wiped his eyes with
a handkerchief which happened to be not so much "a rag of all work"
as the handkerchiefs of the Four generally were, and brought him down
to the house, to show him the pictures in the Doré Dante which was
usually reserved for rainy days or for convalescence. The mother of
the Four had wondered a little at this very peaceful occupation in
the middle of the morning, but was too wise to make awkward enquiries.
There was a prolonged visit that same afternoon from the children
of the house in the "Garden," which had made matters easier for all,
and by the evening everyone was too busy making plans for the morrow,
to think of past disagreeables.
It was to be the last day of Pavlo's stay, and a picnic had been
proposed, a real picnic, with no accompanying governess. There was
some hesitation over this, but Andromache had urged that it was
really only fair to the poor creature herself to give her a whole
day's freedom now and then. "I suppose," she added thoughtfully,
"we may be rather tiring sometimes."
At last, consent was obtained on two conditions, the first being that
they should be back early, the second, that they must promise to obey
Chryseis. This, they did not mind much, knowing of old that her rule
was mild. The picnic was to be somewhere on the hills behind the Red
House, wherever a nice shady spot should be found. Eatables were to
be packed in small hand baskets, so that each might carry his share;
and everyone was to wear his very oldest clothes.
The master of the House wanted to know why the enjoyment would not be
just the same if they simply carried their food to the big pine and ate
it there? But this question was treated with the contempt it deserved.