A CHILD OF THE ORIENT
On the morning of my fifth birthday, just as I awoke from sleep, my grand-uncle came into my room, and, standing over my bed, said with a seriousness little befitting my age:
"To-day, despoinis, you are five years old. I wish you many happy returns of the day."
He drew up a chair, and sat down by my bed. Carefully unfolding a piece of paper, he brought forth a small Greek flag.
"Do you know what this is?"
I nodded.
"Do you know what it stands for?"
Before I could think of an adequate reply, he leaned toward me and said earnestly, his fiery black eyes holding mine:
"It stands for the highest civilization the world has ever known. It stands for Greece, who has taught the world. Take it and make your prayers by it."
I accepted it, and caressed it. Its silky texture
