THE VINTAGE
talking till it emptied, and then made themselves beds of their blankets and saddle-bags. The village was inclined to inquisitiveness, but Mitsos told them that they had come from Sparta with oranges und were going home to Tsimova—a possible, and even a plausible, explanation of their presence; and with that the village must be content.
They descended next day onto the coast and into the warm fresh air of the Greek lowlands in winter, and Mitsos called the hierarchy of Heaven to witness that only the shrewdest pinch of cold would drive him again into foul khans while there were trees to sleep under and good grass beds for the limbs. If rooms untenanted by the grosser vermin were. supposed to be beyond the reach of orange-sellers, he would have no room at all, but only God's out-door inn.
Mid-day brought them to Prastion, and to the delivery of the second message. They had no trouble in finding the recipient, for he was the mayor of the village, and was known to be in his vineyard hoeing vines. Yanni waited with the mules in the strect, while Mitsos went to seek him. He looked up as the lad came striding towards him across the hollowed vine-beds.
"You are Zaravenos?" asked he.
Zaravenos assented slowly and suspiciously, as if he would sooner have boen some one else.
"Are you grinding corn?"
The man put down his mattock and looked round suddenly to see that there was no one within hearing.
"Yes, yes," he said, quickly. "But of what corn do you speak—corn for the hungry, or corn for the Turk?"
"Black corn for the Turk."
"Praise the Virgin. But is the time come? Tell me who sent you; was it Nicholas, whom I know well?"
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