"What shall I do with it?" he asked Michali. "There is no plate big enough, and if I lay it on the table it will spoil the cloth." Shouts of laughter greeted the Swede's evident perplexity, and even the bare teeth of the spitted animal seemed grinning at him in derision. "But you do not put it on the table," cried Michali running to his assistance. "You stick the sharp end of the spit in the ground and stand it up by the side of the tree. So--that's right. Head up." The demarch now approached Lindbohm and laughingly offered him a Cretan knife and a huge fork. "He wants you to carve," explained Michali. "It is a great honor." "No! no!" cried the Swede, pushing the demarch playfully back. "I do not know how. Besides, I am too weak from hunger. Moreover, I haven't the time." And he seated himself resolutely at the table. The demarch therefore carved, and piled the meat upon plates which the girls held for him. Before he had finished, Barba Spiro brought his lamb and solemnly stuck it up by its partly carved mate. "Shall I cut up this one, too?" asked Kyr' Nikolaki; he had finished with number one. "Or shall we eat what we have first?" "We will begin on this one," said the priest, "and I will carve the second." After a playful struggle he dispossessed the mayor of the knife and fork and led him to the head of the table. Then the good priest reverently bent his head and made the sign of the cross, and all of his flock followed his example. Even Lindbohm and Curtis, watching carefully, did as the others. And now the feast was on in earnest, silently at first, till the sharpest pangs of hunger were appeased, with song and laughter later in its course. The three guests and the older members of the community sat at the table. The others and the children found seats upon the ground, in the doorway of the mill-house, on the water troughs. Conversation began in full-mouthed remarks as to the quality of the lamb. "This is marvellous!" "A masterpiece." "Tasty." "A miracle. Done just to a turn. Neither too much nor too little." "Bravo, Barba Yanne," said the mayor, in judicial tones, raising his glass meanwhile. "Barba Yanne! Barba Yanne!" shouted the entire board, and there was a great clinking of glasses. The old man swelled and flushed with pleasure. "I ought to know how to roast a lamb," he said. "I have done it this thirty years." A girl brought the head of Barba Spiro's lamb and laid it before the demarch, who plucked out one of the eyes with a fork and passed the morsel to Curtis, who took it and looked inquiringly at Michali. "What am I to do with it?" he asked. "Eat it. It is the most delicate tid-bit of the whole lamb--sweet, juicy, delicious."