Weeks later, when the swelling of tiny olives began, he spent sunup to sundown as a sort of human scarecrow. At the sight of a bird anywhere in the vicinity he would take off his hat and wave it about, shouting.
“HAROOOO!! HAROO!! AWAY YOU BIRDS! NO OLIVES FOR YOU HERE!!”
If that didn’t do the trick, he would bang a wooden spoon against his largest iron pot. His dog would look at him with a raised eyebrow and chuff disapprovingly before going back to sleep in the shade of the shed. All things considered, I doubt that Demetrius lost even one olive. When he wasn’t chasing olive eaters away, he was hunting beetles or caterpillars that might like an olive leaf meal. No hovering mother could be more attentive of her baby than Demetrius was of that tree.
When fall came, the young tree had a fine load of olives. The branches bent with the weight of them. Feeling elated, and proud too, Demetrius again set out to see the old woman.
“The tree is loaded with olives, old woman. When will I be with Daria? Surely it will be soon now.”
“That is good news, my son. You are doing well. Now you must really rise to the challenge and prove your true worth.”
Demetrius, feeling slightly disheartened, but acknowledging the wisdom of the old woman said, “I will do whatever it takes. My love is worth any amount of sacrifice, but I hope I can be with her soon.”
7.