Mathos had often been beneath Maria's window and had called his sweetheart all the fond names he could think of. She was in turn "cold water" (always sweet to a Grecian because good water is so scarce in that country), a "lemon tree," and a "little bird." He had sung to her many love songs, among them the Ballad of the Basil.
"If I should die of love, my love, my grave with basil strew,
And let some tears fall there, my life, for one who died for you,
Agape mon-ou-ou!"
Maria's prekas[5] was a fine one. Her father and brothers had determined that.
"She shall not be made ashamed before any man. If I never marry, Maria shall have a good dowry," said Marco.
When the list of what she would give to the furnishing of the little home was made for the groom there was a strange array, a bedstead, a dresser, a chair, sheets and pillowcases, blankets and quilts. There were copper kettles and saucepans of many sizes and shapes, and the lovely homespun linens were beautifully embroidered.
Early in the morning of the wedding day, Mathos' friends helped him carry the praekika[6] from the bride's old home to her new one. Not a single pocket handkerchief but was noted on the list Mathos' best man had made, and it would have been a disgrace to all the family of Mezzorios had there been even a pin missing from all that had been agreed upon when the match was arranged.
Musicians played the guitar and mandolin, as Maria sat straight upright upon a sofa. She was a little white and frightened, but looked very pretty in her white dress embroidered in gold, her yellow embroidered kerchief over her head. Zoe, with the other children, had been flying around the room ready, whenever the mastiche paste was passed on a tray, to take a spoon from the pile and gouge out a taste of the sweet stuff.
"Maria looks lonely," she said to Marco. "I'm glad I'm not in her place."