THE VINTAGE
and the press, which had at first stood in the shade, had been swung round into the full blaze of the sun before a couple of hours were over. About nine o'clock Constantine, who had just carried up another basket with Spero, and stayed for a moment looking at Mitsos dancing fantastically in the sun, saw that there was already stuff enough to fill a cask.
"There is food for a cask there," he said to Mitsos, "but it is not trodden enough yet. Yon will not keep pace without some one to help you."
Mitsos paused a moment and wiped his face with the back of his hand.
"I am broiled meat," he said. "Yes, send one of the girls. Make her wash first."
Constantine smiled.
"There speaks Nicholas," he remarked, "who is always right."
So Maria was sent to help Mitsos. She was a pretty girl, about seventeen years old, fawn eyed and olive skinned. As she stood on the edge of the press before stepping in, with her shoes off and her skirt tucked up, Mitsos found himself noticing the gentle curve of her calf muscle from the ankle to behind the knee, and how prettily one foot, pink from the hot water, broadened as she rested her weight on it for a moment. He gave her his hand to help her down into the press, and their eyes met.
"We shall do nicely now," he said.
Constantine meantime had fetched one of the casks, open at the top, and with a tap at the bottom, about six inches above the other end, from which the fermented liquid would be drawn off when it was clear, and placing it under the sluice, looked over to see if the must was sufficiently trodden. No baskets had come in for a
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