However, he was very patient, the old man, and Aleko heard many of those things which never get into the history books, at least into those from which he read at school. Little incidents of the many battles and sieges, tales of the misery and the hardships, and of the braving of all the misery and the hardships, for the sake of freedom. Of the Christian children who were stolen and turned into infidels! Of the boys who were taken as babes and brought up to hate and to fight against their own people; of the girls who were made slaves in the harems; of the bloodshed, and the tortures, until at last the day came at Navarino when even strangers joined in arms against the cruel oppressors.
“I am afraid,” said Kyr Themistocli, “that you cannot quite understand yet, how it all came to pass.”
“There is only one thing I cannot understand,” said Aleko slowly.
“What thing?”
“When they had the strangers to help them, why they did not go everywhere, and cut off all the Turks’ heads so that none should be left.”
The old man leaned back in his chair and laughed aloud.
“He is terrible, the little one!” and he tried to explain, but Aleko remained rather unsatisfied on this point.
“Now, will you find me some water to drink. I have talked much.”
Aleko found the water, and was just putting the pitcher back in its place, when he heard a series of short sharp barks in the distance. Instead of passing out of the house door, before which the old man was sitting, he vaulted out of the low kitchen window and went tearing down the street.
“Aleko!” called Kyr Themistocli who heard the clatter. “Aleko! Where are you?” But there was only silence. He sighed and leaned back in his chair crossing his hands.