THE VINTAGE
prising youth of the village, which was more than Krinos ever had.
Katsi and a fine selection of cousins accompanied the two for a mile or so out of the village next morning to set them on their journey. There were no more messages to deliver, for they were now in the country of the clan, which was worked from Panitza by Petrobey, and Mitsos, as the slayer of the Turk and the treacherous Krinos, enjoyed the sweet sacrifices of hero-worship offered by his cousins. Two of them in particular, of about his own age, could only look at him in a state of rapt adoration, and feebly express their feelings by quarrelling as to which should lead his mule. Yanni, good lad, grudged Mitsos not one word or look of this admiration which was so showered on him; it warmed his heart to see that others like himself recognized the greatness of their splendid cousin.
On the brow of the hill above the village Katsi and the elder men stopped and went back to their work, but the younger ones escorted them as far as their mid-day halt—lithe, black-eyed young Greeks, girt about with the dogs of the clan, Morgos and Osman, Brahim and Maniati, Orloff and Machmoud, Psari and Drakon, Arapi, Cacarapi, Viachos, Mavros, Tourkos and Tourkophagos, Maskaras and Ali, all great, stately dogs, shagey-haired and eyed like wolves, and a contingent of smaller dogs of the most rascally kind, Pyr and Perdiki, Canella and Fundouki, who prosecuted an eternal fend with cach other to keep themselves fighting fit, and allowed no man to pass along the road until a passage had been whipped through them by one or other of their masters. To Mitsos, who had lived so much alone, with only the companionship of his father, to be thrown suddenly among this crowd of boys of his own age, who wel-
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