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 She joined her hands, and her lips moved in silent prayer.

"Just tell me what I can do for you?" my father begged.

"You can speak for me to that Turk, and tell him that the Spathary homestead is Greek, and that it is in the midst of a Greek community, where he is not wanted. If he offers so much money that it will be sold to him, well, it shall be burned to the ground before he moves into it, that is all."

My father opened his cigarette case, and offered her a cigarette, for all the women of her generation smoked.

She selected one, and examined it closely. "I am gratified at least to see that you smoke what is made by your countrymen, and not Turkish cigarettes."

My father laughed. "Why, auntie, there is not a Turkish cigarette-maker in all Turkey. All the Turkish cigarettes are made by Greeks."

Aunt Kalliroë took a puff or two; then, for once, on the defensive, she observed: "All decent things are made by Greeks—isn't that so?"

"I suppose so."

"You ought not to 'suppose so,'" she cried, again on the offensive; "you ought to be certain. Christian God, what are we coming to? Is this the patriotism to be expected of the men who