The villagers called it "the Red House on the hill"; but in reality it was rather a soft old Venetian pink than red, and the blending of this old pink into the masses of golden green around it, was a joy to the eyes; even to the eyes of little boys, though they did not exactly know why. The shape of the house was delightful, it was low, wide, two-storied, with jutting stone balconies on the second floor. A monster bougainvillea spread its dark leaves and regally purple flowers round the southern windows, and the eastern ones looked out on the open sea through the pretty paler green leaves of a wistaria, whose mauve bunches of flowers reached up to the round balcony. The whole house was set on a very long and very wide terrace, and at equal distances along the balustrade of short columns, were placed big stone vases of geraniums of all colours. There was a ruby one with the sunshine on it which made Pavlo think with regret of his crimson chalk, the one that had broken all to bits. A long broad flight of stone steps flanked by more geraniums, by big flowering oleanders and great gray-green aloes led down from the side of the terrace to the little landing stage. It seemed to Pavlo that a whole multitude of people was coming down these steps to meet them, and he felt very shy again; but after he had stepped out of the boat helped by various outstretched hands, the multitude resolved itself into five people and three dogs. There was the master of the Red House, tall and broad, who looked, Pavlo thought, like an officer without his uniform, and there were four children, two little girls and two smaller boys; there was a big black poodle, a fox-terrier, and a little white dog, of no particular breed, with pointed ears. He was the special property of the eldest girl, and when Pavlo first caught sight of him, he had got hold of her skirt between his teeth and was shaking it vigorously, which he always did whenever he felt excited. When Pavlo's uncle was also out of the boat, there was the usual exchange of useless and embarrassing remarks, which according to Pavlo's experience grown-ups always make on first meetings. Later on, when he came to compare impressions, he found that it was also the painful experience of the Four! "Oh, is this your little nephew?" "Are all the four yours? Fine children truly! May they live to you, my friend! Quite a Zamana, did you say? Well, yes; but is there not something of his mother in the shape of the mouth? This boy now, is you all over again, I think I see you at his age!" "Yes, they tell me he is like me." "The little one also, I think." "Oh, no! Nikias has the long face of his mother's family." And Nikias, the little boy, whose legs were too thin for his socks, wriggled uncomfortably. "The second girl is the image of your mother. What a fine woman she was! And this one, what lovely fair hair, and how long!"