And as the days became hotter and hotter, as May melted into June and June into July, Kyr Themistocli got to depend more and more on the boy's daily visits, and as he was an old man and had lost many things in his life, he would tremble sometimes at the thought of losing this new joy. For it was a joy as all creating and all planting is a joy. In all the years he had been a schoolmaster, it was the first time he had come across an intellect where all seeds once sown bore fruit; where there were no barren spots. But Aleko never failed him; every day he would bring the newspaper and read it all through to the blind man. When the heat was intense, and the white light in the streets was blinding, they would sit indoors behind closed shutters, and when it became cooler, late in the afternoon, the old man's chair would be placed outside the house, and Aleko sat on the step below him, and asked all the questions that crowded into his mind. He had more time now, for examinations were over and school was closed until September again. One evening, when the sounds of passing guitars and men's voices singing, floated up to the narrow little street, mingled with the cries of boys racing and calling to each other, the old man asked him:-- "Do you not want to run with the other lads, Aleko?" And Aleko answered:-- "I run all day; now it is good to sit. Tell me about some great men, Kyr Themistocli." And the old schoolmaster, well content, tilted his chair back against the sun-baked wall of the house, and told him many things.