“Look at his pretty mustache!” said Levon. Everybody laughed, for Archag’s mustache consisted of a scant score of downy hairs.
Then Archag presented Aram to his parents; Boghos Effendi bade the boy welcome, and inquired for his father and an uncle with whom he had once had some business dealings. Meanwhile Levon plied Archag with questions about the college.
When they went into the house, the travelers found a regular collation awaiting them, prepared by old Gulenia; tea, three kinds of jam, caghkés, still hot, with grapes and watermelon. They felt a keen appreciation of the comfort and happiness of being at home. They talked gayly about their college life, their teachers and comrades. In spite of Archag’s protestations, Aram insisted on telling the story of the butterflies and Nejib’s rescue. The father and mother had heard no word of this, and Hanna badgi shed tears as she learned of the danger into which her boy had run, and gave thanks to God for having so miraculously preserved him.
The voice of the Bakshi (watchman) crying ten o’clock reminded Boghos Effendi that the boys must be very tired, so he went with them to their room, which had formerly been Nizam’s, and made them good night. Hanna badgi lay awake a long time that night, unable to sleep for the joy of seeing her son again.
Aram and Archag spent the next day with Nizam and her husband, and also paid a short visit to the old Bishop who had always been especially fond of Archag. They made numerous plans for all sorts of jaunts and excursions, and even talked of making the ascent of Subhan Dagh; but Boghos Effendi forbade that.
The days and hours of the holidays passed all too quickly for our lads. Aram was eager to see everything, and Archag took pleasure in showing his favorite haunts to his friend. About a week after their arrival they made a trip to Akhtamar, an island in Lake Van, where there is a celebrated monastery, formerly the residence of three Gregorian patriarchs. When the Catholicos of Echmiadzin became Primate of the Church, the office of his two associates was abolished, but the convent still continues to be a famous object of pilgrimage; its library contains many precious manuscripts in old Armenian. It is a charming spot, with magnificent stretches of garden and lawn, and ancient trees offering repose beneath their venerable branches.
An old sailor was commissioned to take the boys over in his boat, and Archag held the tiller, while Aram lay stretched out on a seat, and sang at the top of his voice, or chaffed the boatman, whom he called “Captain of the ship.”
The Superior of the monastery, a distant cousin of Boghos Effendi, gave the lads a cordial reception and directed a lay brother to show them all the treasures of the place: the relics of the Saints, the old pictures, the golden censer, and the manuscripts and objects of early art in the library.
Then Archag and Aram went off to eat a picnic lunch on the banks of a stream. The Superior had given them permission to take their dessert from the trees in the garden, so our two friends filled pockets and stomachs with plums and peaches. When they had satisfied their appetite, they explored the whole island; Archag, conscientious as usual, hunted for some coleoptera which he had promised to take back to Professor Pagratian.
About four o’clock, however, they had to think about going home. They found the boatman sitting in front of the convent with some of the monks, and when he saw the boys he stood up at once.