"I have travelled from Corinth to-day," he continued, "and there is much to tell you. At last the Club of Patriots have put the Morea entirely into my hands. I have leave to use the funds as I think fit, and it is I who shall say the word for the vintage of the Turks to begin. Are there men here whom you can trust, or are they all mule-folk and chatterers?" "The main are mule-folk," said Constantine. "The mule-folk can be useful," remarked Nicholas; "but the man who travels with a mule to show the way goes a short journey. They follow where they are led, but some one has to lead. But is there not a priest here--Father Andréa, I think--with a trumpet for a voice? I should like to see him. As far as I remember, he talked too much, yet you would not call him a chatterer." "He curses the Turk in the name of God three times a day," said Constantine. "It is a vow." "And little harm will the Turk suffer from that. Better that he should learn to bless them, or best to keep a still tongue. Well, little Mitsos, is the bath ready? You will excuse me, Constantine, but I am an uneasy man when I am dirty. Come to my room in ten minutes, Mitsos, and tell me of yourself." "There is little to tell," said Mitsos. "We will hope, then, that it is all good. By the way, Constantine, I have brought some wine with me. Mitsos will drop it into the fountain, for it must be tepid. Tepid wine saps a man's self-respect, and if a man, or a boy either, doesn't respect himself, Mitsos, nobody will ever respect him." Mitsos followed him out of the room with his eyes, and then turned to his father. "My hands are so dirty from that vine-digging," he whispered. "Do you think Uncle Nicholas saw?" "He sees everything," said his father. "Wash, then, before you go up to his room."