THAT WARM MORNING in 1850, when Amalia woke up, their little house was so quiet that she could hear the flies flying. But where is father? What happened? she wondered anxiously, rubbing her eyes. Amalia never woke up on her own, she was a sleepyhead. Every morning, as soon as the sun rose, she was awakened by her father's footsteps, Mr. Lambros, who would go in and out of the house. He would go out to feed the chickens, come in to bring wood for the fireplace, go out to fetch water from the spring, come in to boil it with mountain tea, go out to bring honey from the jar, come in to put the honey in the tea and to warm up a piece of pie on the fire. As soon as he had prepared everything, he would shout loudly to his daughter: – AMALIAAAAA, wake up, the stream has flooded and we will drown! Then he would laugh with his booming laughter: – HAHAHAHAHAHA!

And he would bring the aromatic tea close to her nose, to make her get out of bed. Amalia loved tea with honey. She could drink it all day long. And especially, in the good years, with many flowers, when the honey that her father's bees made was very aromatic, she liked to secretly dip her finger into the jar and then lick it with every sip of tea she swallowed. Today, however, there was no flooded stream, no fire was lit, and no tea was smelled. What happened? Amalia jumped up anxiously, threw a shawl over her shoulders, and pushed aside the rag that their little house had instead of a door.