“Did he say so to you, Kyra Polyxene?”
“Just as I tell you, my daughter.”
Mattina wiped her hands on her apron and ran upstairs to her mistress’s bedroom. She found her struggling with Taki’s stiffly starched sailor collar, while Bebeko sitting on the unmade bed, with unbuttoned boots, was howling for his hat which had been placed out of his reach.
“How many more hours are you going to be, cleaning those aubergines, lazy one? How do you want me to dress two children and myself? Have I four hands do you think? Fasten the child’s boots and make him stop that crying.”
Mattina lifted the heavy screaming boy off the bed, and sat down on the floor with him.
“Why does Bebeko want his hat?” she whispered. “Now in a minute after I have fastened his little boots for him, I shall tie it on his head and he will go with Mamma and Babba and Taki, and hear the pretty music; and when he comes back ….” The child stopped crying and looked at her, “and when he comes back, if he be a good child, I shall have such a beautiful boat ready for him, cut out of an aubergine! It will have two seats and a helm.”
“And a mast. Will it have a mast too, Mattina?”
“And a mast, of course.”
“And a sail?”
“No,” said Mattina seriously, looking out of the window, “it will not want a sail, there is no wind to-day.”