Each of the vines stood in its several little artificial hollow dug in the ground, and he first cleared the water-channels in the vineyard of all accumulated rubbish and soil, so that, when he let the stream in, it might flow to all the trees. Having done this, he went back to the aqueduct and removed a spadeful of earth from the bank, which he placed in the bed of the stream itself, stamping it down to keep it firm, so that the whole of the water was diverted into the vineyard. Standing, as he did, a few feet above the surface of the vines, he could see when the water had reached them all, and then, hooking out his temporary dam from the bed of the stream, he replaced it, so as to again send the water back into its channel; then, jumping down, he hoed away round the roots of the vines, so that the water might sink well in close to them, for there had been no rain for weeks, and they must be thoroughly watered. The sun was off the land, but it was still very hot, for the sirocco had increased in violence and was sweeping over the fields like the blast from the pit. On the windward side of the trees the dark rich green of the vine-leaves was powdered over with the fine white dust driven up from the bare, harvested fields. Mitsos stopped now and then to wipe the sweat off his forehead, but otherwise he worked hard and continuously, singing to himself the peasant song of the vine-diggers. His work was nearly over when he saw his father coming towards him. The latter stood for a moment on the edge of the bank, looking at what the boy had been doing. "Poor little Mitsos," he said, "you have had to work alone to-day! I was obliged to go into Nauplia. You have watered the vines very well. You have finished, have you not?" "There are three more vines here," said Mitsos, "which are yet to be dug. But it won't take long." His father stepped down into the vineyard. "You can go and rest," he said. "I'll finish those." Mitsos threw down his spade. "Oh, it is hotter than hell!" he said. "Uncle Nicholas will be roasted coming across the plain." "He will want a bath," said Constantine. "Do you remember his making a bath last year out of those spare planks? I suppose it holds water still?" "I wish it didn't hold so much," said Mitsos; "it holds six cans." Constantine laughed. "And Mitsos' back will ache, eh?" "I hope not; but it is a great affair to carry six cans of water from the fountain." Constantine worked on for half an hour or so, while Mitsos looked on. "There, that is finished," he said, at last. "You won't go fishing to-night, will you? The wind is too strong." "It may go down at sunset," said Mitsos; "but there are enough fish for to-night and to-morrow night, unless this hot weather turns them. But I put them in the cellar in water, and I expect they will keep." They walked back together, but as soon as they got onto the road they saw that three mules were standing opposite the house. Constantine quickened his pace.