A MONTH in Argolis found Zoe rosy, happy and quite unlike the sad-faced little maid who had tended the babycoula in far-away Thessaly. Uncle Andreas soon went to sea again, taking Marco with him; but Aunt Angeliké was kindness itself and Zoe's cousin, a merry boy of ten, proved such a delightful playfellow that the two soon became fast friends. Their home was on a pleasant village street, where a huge plane tree hundreds of years old shaded the little balcony which extended from the second story out over the street. Near-by was the village fountain, a meeting place for old and young, for all the water used for cooking had to be carried from the fountain in water-jars. [Illustration: "THEY WASHED BENEATH A HUGE PLANE TREE."] Aunt Angeliké was young and full of laughter. She was much younger than her husband, and seemed to Zoe almost like her cousin Maria. She entered into everything the children did, and added to their enjoyment by her pleasure in their happiness. She made play even of work, and Zoe enjoyed nothing more than the family washing-day. This occurred only once a month, but that was far oftener than many of their neighbours washed their household linen. Aunt Angeliké went to the mountain stream which gurgled down to the sea over rocks and pebbles, clear and limpid, reflecting the blue sky and white clouds. They washed beneath a huge plane tree, the largest one Zoe had ever seen, and about whose trunk she and Petro together with arms extended could not reach. The linen had been brought up the hill on the back of a little donkey which the children often rode. First Aunt Angeliké soaked the clothes in lye water, then boiled them and laid each piece upon the stones to be beaten with a paddle. "Now, Zoe and Petro, it is your time to help," she said laughing. "Beat them until they are clean and white. Your uncle's _fustanellas_, Child, take great pains with them. Of all things they must be clean." "I shall make them perfect," said Zoe, "and Marco's also." And she beat and paddled the skirts until they were as white as the snow on Mount Olympus. "There, that will do. Now spread them out to dry," said Aunt Angeliké, and Zoe and Petro laid the clothes about on the grass and bushes, the _fustanellas_ alone covering yards and yards of the green. "Let us rest," said Petro, throwing himself down beneath the tree. "I am tired." "You are a lazy one," said his mother, seating herself beside him. "Next you will want to eat." "That I do," cried Petro, sitting up hastily and forgetting his fatigue. "What have you, little mother?" "Now you are a greedy," said his mother, laughing at him. "But tell me," he said coaxingly, laying a hand on her arm.