DOI Page / Citation link:
https://doi.org/10.11588/diglit.4593#0066
THE IONIAN ISLES 49
and on the floor — I gasped with delight, visions of
pantry shelves, plum buns and fruit-cake flashing
through my mind —• were piles of dried Zante cur-
rants ! As our apples are stored at home, so these cur-
rants were heaped everywhere in generous profusion.
Pleased to find us so appreciative, our hostess
straightway filled our hands and pockets and hats.
What a feast we had ! The supply lasted us for days,
weeks, months. In fact, a short time ago, when un-
packing some Greek trophies, we found one of the
small boy's handkerchiefs wound round a wad of
Zante currants."
At dusk we approached the monastery, passing
through a straggling village on the edge of the pla-
teau. An arched gateway opened into the convent
courtyard, where a young priest with a Christ-like
face was pacing to and fro between the little chapel
and the big plane-tree in the centre of the enclosure.
On the balcony of one of the long buildings sat two
or three of the nuns, with their black shawls drawn
over their heads. Below them were some monks
mending a farm wagon. As we drove into the court-
yard they hospitably welcomed us, and while the men
unharnessed our horses, the sisters led us up into the
refectory, where the long tables were already lighted
by candles and antique lamps. The sisters were
delighted to see Mr. Woodley, who frequently visited
the convent, and they chatted together in rapid vernac-
ular Greek which we could not begin to understand.
The supper, which had been brought ready cooked
from Argostoli, was spread and the hospitable nuns
added fresh eggs and honey to the feast. Rather
regretfully they withdrew while we ate, but no sooner
4
and on the floor — I gasped with delight, visions of
pantry shelves, plum buns and fruit-cake flashing
through my mind —• were piles of dried Zante cur-
rants ! As our apples are stored at home, so these cur-
rants were heaped everywhere in generous profusion.
Pleased to find us so appreciative, our hostess
straightway filled our hands and pockets and hats.
What a feast we had ! The supply lasted us for days,
weeks, months. In fact, a short time ago, when un-
packing some Greek trophies, we found one of the
small boy's handkerchiefs wound round a wad of
Zante currants."
At dusk we approached the monastery, passing
through a straggling village on the edge of the pla-
teau. An arched gateway opened into the convent
courtyard, where a young priest with a Christ-like
face was pacing to and fro between the little chapel
and the big plane-tree in the centre of the enclosure.
On the balcony of one of the long buildings sat two
or three of the nuns, with their black shawls drawn
over their heads. Below them were some monks
mending a farm wagon. As we drove into the court-
yard they hospitably welcomed us, and while the men
unharnessed our horses, the sisters led us up into the
refectory, where the long tables were already lighted
by candles and antique lamps. The sisters were
delighted to see Mr. Woodley, who frequently visited
the convent, and they chatted together in rapid vernac-
ular Greek which we could not begin to understand.
The supper, which had been brought ready cooked
from Argostoli, was spread and the hospitable nuns
added fresh eggs and honey to the feast. Rather
regretfully they withdrew while we ate, but no sooner
4