"I did not think this morning, when I had this put up, that I should eat it with so dear a little girl," he said. "Perhaps I should have put in Syrian loukoumi had I known that you would be here instead of halva[17] and tarama.[18] Should I not?"
"Halva is very nice," said Zoe shyly. "And I have never tasted loukoumi of Syria."
"Have you not? Poor child! Tell me where you live and I will send you a packet of it."
"I live in Karissa, near to Volo," said Zoe with a sweet smile. "The gentleman takes too much trouble."
"I shall certainly do it," he said, "unless I am wrestling with Charos."[19]
"When your soul shall be a Petalouda[20] and your dust shall become myrrh," said Zoe. "On the third day I shall carry raw wheat and a candle to Papa Petro, that he may say prayers for you."
"You are an angel of a child!" there were tears in the man's eyes. "It matters little when Charos comes, since God sends Charos to take souls. It is well if we leave behind us some grateful hearts to say 'may your dust become myrrh.' Come, let us eat. Here is a bottle of resinato,[21] bread and tarama, with olives and garlic and halva for dessert. It is a feast for the gods, yet the best Christian may eat it in Lent."
They ate, the two men chatting together, Zoe listening in silence. It had been long since she had seen such a feast, for bread and eggs were often all that was to be had in her aunt's house, and sometimes there were no eggs.
They sat beneath a giant tree on a carpet of maiden-hair fern; scarlet anemones and heath, orchids and iris bloomed beside them, and the silver tinkle of a waterfall came softly through the evening air. The fragrance of violets was there, and a few early asphodel raised their star-like blooms toward heaven.
"There is no place in all the world like Greece," said the stranger, as he looked down over the beautiful valley. "It was near to here that Cheiron's cave lay, and one can almost see Olympus, home of the gods."