"What's the row, anyway?" asked Curtis, to his great disgust not being able to catch enough words from the rapidly-spoken sentences to be quite sure of their meaning. Panayota's enunciation was more clear cut and distinct than that of the others, and from what she said, he concluded that the mayor was ordering food from his café, a proceeding which the priest and his daughter good-naturedly resented, as a reflection on their own hospitality. "Seems like a quarrel between Church and State," observed Curtis. Michali explained the remark, easily understood in Greek, and the mayor, shouting great thunder claps of laughter, patted Curtis on the back and cried, "Bravo! bravo!" Panayota placed on the cloth a huge loaf of brown bread, a plate of black olives and a jug of water. The Sphakiotes do not take kindly to wine. But the feast was not yet complete; a young man entered, bearing a large bowl of brown earthenware, filled with something that emitted a cloud of fragrant steam; and a plate containing a large chunk of white _halva_. These he deposited upon the tablecloth, and Panayota, with a graceful wave of the hand and a dazzling smile that flashed from her white teeth and beamed in her great brown eyes, cried "_Oreeste_." The demarch sat down on the floor, crossing his legs under him. The priest laid his hand upon Lindbohm's shoulder, and pointed to the feast. The Swede sat down as awkwardly and as many jointedly as a camel. The floor seemed far away to him, and when he had finally reached it, do what he could with his legs, his knees persisted in rising on a level with his ears. Curtis slid his lame foot along until he was sitting on the floor with his back against the sofa. The Cretans made the sign of the cross, which corresponds with our blessing, and Panayota, who was standing meekly by as serving maid, distributed four forks among the five diners. There not being enough to go around, the demarch unsheathed a long knife whose silver-mounted handle ended broadly, with two flaring ears, not unlike the butt of an Arab's gun. Cutting the bread with this, he impaled a bounteous portion and offered it to Curtis, who took it from the point, saying "_Eucharisto, polu, Demarche_." (Many thanks, Mr. Mayor.) "Bravo, bravo!" cried Michali, "you're getting on. At this rate you will speak Greek by to-morrow better than I do!" "This is truly wonderful," observed the priest, and asked Curtis, slowly and distinctly, "How many years have you been in Greece?" "He says--" began Michali. "Hold on, old man, I understand him," interrupted Curtis, and he replied, slowly but correctly, in Greek: "I have been here only two weeks." "This is a miracle," roared the demarch. "We shall make a Cretan of you; but let us begin eating," and, spearing a piece of bread with his knife, he dipped it into the soup.