celebrate a _victory_. But here we celebrate a _defeat_. I don’t like
it. _We_ ought to have a victory day too.’ And Mary began to describe
the American Fourth of July, its flags and ice cream, its brass bands
and processions and fireworks, until it seemed to the boys that the
American children must live in a perpetual circus.
‘That’s grand,’ said Pavlo, ‘but every country doesn’t have the same
history, and so they don’t have the same kind of fête days. Grandmother
says the reason we keep Kossovo Day is because, although the Serbian
_army_ was beaten, the Serbian _spirit_ was not. That burned brighter
and stronger than ever in the day of defeat. And you can _be_ great,
even if you don’t conquer and do grand things.’
‘Yes, that’s so,’ said Mary slowly; ‘I can see that Serbia _is_ great,
and I’m going to be proud of Kossovo Day!’
That night Mary wrote a long letter to Mamie Barnes.
‘Dear Mamie,’ it began, ‘We had our Serbian Fourth of July to-day. I
danced the _kola_ with the rest. It’s easy; there are no fancy steps.
But it is too slow. The women looked lovely! They had strings of great
gold coins on their heads and round their necks. Solid gold! And
jackets of purple and orange, embroidered with silver and green. It
was just like vaudeville. And they had ribbons fastened to their caps
behind, four inches wide and covered with flowers. The sash ribbons
in Benton’s store can’t touch them. They would make lovely doll’s
dresses and pincushions and things for Christmas. But there weren’t
any fireworks. Just think, they celebrate a _defeat_ here! At first I
thought that was strange, but Peter’s grandmother says it’s because
their _army_ and not their _soul_ was beaten. And it’s better to _be_
great than to do great things. I guess that’s harder, too, because if
you’re going to _do_ something you can just go ahead and finish it,
but if you’re going to _be_ something you’ve got to _be_ it all the
time.
Your loving friend
MARY
P.S. I wish I could go around to Martin’s Drug store and get an
ice-cream soda!’
THE FAIRY RING
It was a hot and thirsty day. In the hollow a curving wellsweep stood
guard over a cottage with a thatch, which, like a rough cap, was pulled
down to the two little eyes of the house. Behind it the hill rose
sharply, steeped in sunshine.
A boy, leading a spotted cow, toiled up the slope, an empty basket
slung over his shoulder. After him stumbled a girl with a chubby baby
in her arms. They gained the top slowly and sat down under a beech that
spread its horizontal branches close to the ground.
‘He gets more and more heavy every day,’ said the girl as she rolled
the baby over on the grass. The boy grunted but said nothing. He was
lying on his back gazing idly up into the tree while the spotty cow
trailed her rope through the weeds. The girl rubbed her tired arms and
fanned herself with her apron, scanning the ground with a practiced
eye, for mushrooms.
‘Why, Stefano!’ she exclaimed in an awestruck voice, ‘just look at
that!’
‘What?’ asked Stefano, sitting up sleepily. Ileana was pointing to
something on the ground not far from the beech tree. A flash of
intelligence came into the boy’s eyes. ‘A fairy ring!’ he exclaimed,
‘what luck!’
Among the dead leaves and short grass a circle of white toadstools had
sprung up in the night. It was what the children called a ‘fairy ring.’
Whatever one wished for, as he stood inside it, was sure to come true.
Stefano sprang to his feet. ‘I’m going to wish,’ he cried, and
carefully stepped over the edge of the circle. He laid his finger on
his lips, thinking intently. Then he shut his eyes. ‘I’ve wished,’ he
cried, exultantly, and leaped out again. ‘Now you go in, Ileana.’
Ileana was flustered by the great opportunity. ‘Oh! I can’t think,’ she
said excitedly. ‘Yes, I know, now; I’ve got it!’ She stood with her
bare feet close together, her hands behind her, and wished solemnly.
Then she threw herself on the grass beside the baby. ‘It’s all about
you,’ she whispered, kissing him. Stefano did not hear, but the baby
caught one chubby foot in his hand and laughed delightedly.
‘You’d be surprised if you knew what I wished for,’ said Stefano.
‘What was it?’ asked Ileana, full of curiosity. ‘I shan’t tell.’
‘It’s something you’d never think of.’
‘Is it something to _do_ or something to _have_?’ queried Ileana.
‘Something to _do_, _right now_, to-day,’ said Stefano; ‘something you
never did in your life.’
‘Oh, _please_, Stefano, tell me; go on, do!’
‘And I wished it for you, too, Ileana,’ said Stefano, tantalizingly.
‘Oh, how good of you, Stefano. What was it?’ Ileana was standing
breathlessly in front of him now.
‘Well,’ he said, thinking only how pleased she would be, ‘I wished we
might both ride in an automobile!’
‘Oh, Stefano!’ cried Ileana in dismay, ‘now you’ve told, and it won’t
come true! How could you!’
‘What did you ask me for, then?’ cried Stefano angrily. ‘Now you’ve
made me lose my wish while you’ve kept yours.’
‘Well, I won’t keep it,’ said Ileana generously; ‘I’ll tell you what it
was. I wished that the baby could walk, so I shouldn’t have to carry
him all the time.’
‘Stupid!’ cried Stefano scornfully. ‘How could you wish such a silly
thing as that, and all for yourself, too, when you might have wished
for a bag of gold and we could have bought everything in the world!’
‘I was in such a hurry,’ said Ileana contritely. ‘It was the first
thing that came into my head. But let’s wish over again,’ she added
brightly.
Eagerly they turned to the circle, but while they had been disputing
the spotty cow had trampled it into the earth.
‘Now see what you’ve done!’ cried Stefano grimly. ‘And we might have
had such a lucky day!’
‘But I didn’t do it,’ said Ileana indignantly. ‘The cow did it.’ She
was really very hot and tired, and everything seemed to be going wrong.
‘Well, come on,’ said Stefano, beginning to feel ashamed of himself.
‘Perhaps we shall find another.’ He picked up his basket and whacking
the cow on the flank, moved on. With a sigh Ileana gathered up the baby
and followed. His little curls and bright eyes bobbed over her shoulder
as she walked. Ileana was devoted to the baby. Every morning before she
went to school she washed and dressed and fed him and then laid him in
his swinging cradle, which hung from the ceiling just over the end of
his mother’s bed. On holidays he was seldom out of her arms, though her
slender, growing body often ached with the weight of him.
Following the footpath through the trees, Stefano and Ileana soon came
upon Branko sitting among the mullen stalks making melancholy music
with the _boojum_. The _boojum_ was a great wooden horn, so long that
Branko had to sit and rest one end of it on the ground. Its notes were
sad and heavy, a little like the bellow of a cow. Branko loved it and
blew out his cheeks until they were crimson. Whenever he came to a
brook or a spring he poured water through the _boojum_, to make it
louder and sweeter. ‘Hello!’ he cried, as the children came in sight.
‘Where are you going?’
‘To pick plums, if you will take care of Gemma.’
‘All right,’ said Branko, ‘I will bring her down with the other cows.’
Stefano and Ileana spread themselves on the grass and told Branko about
the fairy ring.
‘I’ve never seen one,’ said Branko wistfully; ‘what a chance!’
‘What would you wish for if you _did_ find one?’ asked Stefano.
‘I don’t know,’ said Branko slowly, ‘but I think I’d wish for a house.’
Branko was an orphan. He lived with the schoolmaster and swept the
schoolhouse, besides ringing the church bells and guarding cattle on
holidays. At noon he always went home with Stefano and Ileana, and
shared their dinner of hot corn on the cob. The great copper dish of
corn stood on the porch and whoever was hungry came and got some. But
though Branko was welcome everywhere he had no home of his own. So now,
sitting on the hilltop with Stefano and Ileana and looking down on the
thatched cottages, each with its golden patch of corn or pumpkins and
its haze of smoke, he felt that a home counted for more than anything
else.
They could see the big house at the end of the village, its gardens
and orchards, and below them the schoolhouse. Not every village in
Roumania has its school, and the children were proud of theirs, though
they wished the lady who lived in the big house, and who had built
the school, would not come so often to see if they were really in the
classroom.
Across the valley there was a gap in the bare hills, like a piece
notched out. That was the Pass. On the other side of it lay a beautiful
mountain country in which was the king’s palace; but beyond their own
valley the children had never gone.
‘Well, come on,’ said Stefano, at last, ‘let’s look for plums.’
They came out on the highway, which was lined with plum trees thick
with fruit. It lay on the ground in purple-blue patches, so that it was
not necessary to shake the trees or to climb them in order to get a
basketful.
[Illustration: SHARED THEIR DINNER OF HOT CORN ON THE COB]
The children could see the road as far as the Pass. It disappeared for
long stretches, coming into view again close to them. Over it there was
a slow but continual passing. Flocks of sheep went by on little tapping
hoofs, and gleaming geese, unruffled by the heat. There were also
wicker carts with small wooden wheels, drawn by black buffaloes that
stretched their flat heads far beyond their bodies and lifted dumb,
sad eyes to the hot sky. Women with distaffs or painted water-buckets
passed, and the dust rose in clouds about their feet.
But what was that flash? Something bright, like a great star, had shot
through the Pass and disappeared in a dip of the road.
The children had filled their basket and prepared to start for home.
Ileana popped a plum into her mouth and picked up the sleeping baby.
Noiselessly two pairs of bare feet fell on the dust, and the sun wove
halos around Stefano with his basket and Ileana with the baby over her
shoulder. A mellow note sounded behind them. How different from that
of the _boojum_! Could it be a horn, so soft and sweet? They turned to
look, then scampered to the side of the road, as the wonderful blinding
thing came toward them--an automobile, like something in a fairy tale,
for it seemed to be of silver. Ileana, her eyes fastened on it, lost
her footing, and as it flashed by them, fell headlong with the baby in
her arms, into a bed of thistles. A shriek of indignation and fright
went up from the baby. The car shot past them, stopped, then backed
slowly.
‘Are they hurt?’ asked someone anxiously. A man jumped down from the
front seat and came running toward them. Ileana scrambled to her feet
and began patting and kissing the baby vigorously. All three of the
children were scratched and frightened and covered with dust, but
uninjured.
‘Where do you live?’ asked one of the ladies of Stefano, who stood his
ground, gazing in stupefaction at the aluminum automobile.
Stefano pulled off his tall sheepskin cap and held it against his
breast, for though the lady wore a bright knotted handkerchief over her
head, as his mother did, she was different and he felt very shy. ‘We
live in the village opposite the church,’ he said.
‘Help them in, Bonnat,’ said the elder of the two ladies, ‘we will take
them home.’
So Stefano and Ileana, with the whimpering baby and the basket of
plums, were lifted into the wonderful machine. They sat on the edge
of the seat, their little bare toes just touching the carpet. One of
the ladies held out her hands to the baby, but he clung to Ileana.
The car started with hardly a quiver. Down the road they darted, the
familiar trees and houses flying past them. Stefano and Ileana, almost
forgetting the other occupants of the car, held hands, their eyes wide
with excitement.
‘We wished for it!’ exclaimed Ileana, at last unable to keep silence
any longer. ‘We wished for it this morning, and now it’s come true!’
‘Wished for what?’ asked the lady.
‘To ride in an automobile. Stefano wished it in the fairy ring.’
‘What is your name?’ asked the lady, as she smiled down at her.
‘Ileana; I was named for a princess,’ she explained proudly.
‘That is my little girl’s name, too,’ said the lady, and Ileana noticed
that her eyes were laughing. She was a beautiful lady, dressed as the
women of Ileana’s village dress when they go to church. The sleeves
and the front of her white linen blouse were richly embroidered; her
skirt was a piece of striped woven stuff, red, pale yellow, and green,
brought together in front and lapped over a white petticoat. Around her
waist was a bright girdle, shot with threads of gold, and on her head
was a flowered kerchief knotted at the back of her neck. From under it
peeped crisp little curls of gold, and her eyes were blue, like chicory
blossoms when the sun shines through them.
As the car swept into the village the people came running to their
gates bowing and curtsying.
‘They are surprised to see us riding in an automobile,’ thought
Stefano, and threw out his chest.
Their mother, washing clothes in the corner of the yard, looked up in
consternation to see her dusty, disheveled children descending from the
most wonderful car that had ever been seen in the village. Then, in a
flash, the beautiful lady was gone, disappearing up the road that led
to the big house.
‘Mother, mother, she gave us a ride! She was a nice lady! I got my
wish!’ clamored the children, together.
But their mother rebuked them. ‘Don’t you know that that was the
Queen?’ she said, ‘and you so dirty and bold!’
‘The Queen!’ they stammered. ‘But she wore a handkerchief over her
head!’
‘And is that all you noticed? Would it make a queen of me to put on a
crown?’
‘I told her I was named for a princess,’ said Ileana, ‘and all the
time it was her own little girl, and she knew it!’ Then, catching
a glimpse of the baby, ‘Oh, mother,’ she cried, ‘look at him!’ He
stood between the doorstep and the rainwater tub, balancing himself on
his little bare feet. Then he took a step forward, swerved, dipped,
righted himself, took two steps more and clutched the edge of the tub
triumphantly. His mother, forgetting the Queen, ran to catch him up and
kiss him.
‘You see,’ said Ileana, wisely nodding at Stefano, ‘the fairy ring
_did_ work. If only Branko had wished, too, he might have his house!’
‘You and Stefano wished for small things,’ said their mother, ‘but for
the big things of life you must work as well as wish. It is through
work that Branko will find his home.’
GREAT AMBER ROAD
The village ended where the forest began. Two great pine trees stood
out like gate-posts, and between them the road ran into the depths of
the wood. Along the road one summer morning came a herd of cows led
by a small dog and followed by a boy in a white shirt embroidered in
orange and black. He wore a round cap with a falcon’s feather stuck
through the band, and under his arm he carried a violin. This was
Jaroslav, the village cowherd, who every day, with the help of Flick,
the dog, gathered the cows of the village, led them to pasture, and
brought them back at milking-time. Presently dog, boy and cows passed
between the great pines and disappeared into the shadow beyond, as if
into an enchanted forest; but if you had waited half an hour you would
have seen them emerge, high upon the mountain-side, into a clearing of
smooth, green fields.
Here a spring ran into a grassy hollow and filled it with pools of cool
water where the cows liked to stand on hot afternoons. From his perch
on the hillside, Jaroslav could look over the tops of the pines, far
down upon the roof of his own home. It was almost the last house in the
village, made of stone covered with plaster, and painted by his mother
in gay wreaths and patterns. The roof was of rough thatch on which grew
patches of moss and pink flowers, which danced in the wind. The two
white spots like flecks of silver were pigeons, cooing and spreading
their coral feet on the moss.
The whole village was spread out below like something embroidered on a
green cloth, and across it ran the thick silver thread of the river. On
the farm by the bridge Jaroslav’s mother must be working in the fields.
Lidka, his sister, was probably putting the house in order or washing
the baby. Jaroslav looked for smoke from the chimney, but there was
none. Perhaps Lidka was in the garden picking beans. Yes, there was
something red moving. He sprang to his feet, and putting his hands to
his mouth, gave a piercing cry, as he had so often done when he saw
people moving about below. There was no sign that Lidka had heard him,
and with a sigh Jaroslav settled down to his solitary day with Flick.
It was vacation; otherwise Jaroslav would have been in school. He was
glad to be able to earn something during the holidays, and it was not
hard work looking after the cows, though neither he nor Flick dared to
drowse during the hot afternoons, for if a cow wandered among the rocks
she might stumble and break a leg. Jaroslav spent a great deal of time
with his violin, playing over all the tunes he had heard and composing
new ones. The one he liked best he called a Hillside Song. It began
with the sigh of the wind in the pines, then a bird’s song broke across
it and died away. Again, the wind swept through the trees and brought
the cling-clang of cow bells and the slipping march of cattle winding
their way down the wood path. All this Jaroslav had tried to put into
music. He had worked hard for weeks, and now he could play it smoothly.
Sometimes Jaroslav brought a book with him. He loved to read about the
heroes of his own land. But having only one book, and that a heavy
one, he preferred to keep it for Sundays, when he would read aloud to
Lidka and her friends about the great deeds of Czech men and women. He
pondered these stories as he sat alone until they became very real to
him.
First, there was the story of Cech, the founder of the Bohemian
kingdom. More than a thousand years before, he and his brother Lech had
separated from the rest of their tribe because there was not grazing
space for all their cattle. Through this very country they must have
passed, and perhaps looked up at this very rock as they followed the
course of the river with their thousands of cattle and horses, their
families and household goods in ox-carts, seeking new homes. On and on
they trekked westward, until they came to the mountain called ‘Rip,’
which rises like a cone from the plain.
But what most often filled Jaroslav’s mind was the story of the ‘Great
Amber Road,’ an ancient route that hundreds of years before even Cech’s
time ran from Pressburg straight up to the Baltic Sea. It had been
little more than a trail for trappers and adventurers, at first, and
led through dark forests full of wild beasts. But over it passed many
traders in search of amber, in those days a strange, new treasure,
found on the shores of the Baltic. Men risked their lives to get it, as
they risk them now in wild countries for gold, and when they had found
it they sold it at a great price to Roman and Greek merchants, who had
it carved into ornaments and amulets, and often into cups and bowls,
which were studded with jewels and used in the houses of princes.
Ages before Jaroslav’s time, barbaric people had broken loose across
the country and stopped all trade. The Romans had disappeared and the
Great Amber Road had been forgotten and stretches of it lost entirely.
Nevertheless it must be there, if only one could find and follow it,
and no doubt at the end there were still beds of the precious amber.
Jaroslav longed to rediscover it, as men have longed to find the North
Pole.
Flick spent most of the day chasing rabbits. There were hundreds of
them in the fields and along the edge of the woods. Often they came
down to the village and did great damage in the gardens by destroying
the sugar beets, the lettuce and the cabbages. While Flick was romping
after the rabbits, Jaroslav would grow restless, put down his violin
and climb a tree. Then he would glance sadly down on the little house,
the white pigeons on the roof, the garden, and the twisted plum tree.
Before the war, life had been gay there. His father had made a good
living by cutting and hauling timber. They had had a cow and a horse
and even a cart. But their father had gone away with the army; the
horse and the cow had been taken by the Austrians, and though they had
been paid something for the cow, it was not enough to get another.
Their mother had had to buy a goat, instead. There was far less milk
than there used to be, and no butter at all. When the war was over
their father came back from Russia, sick, and before the year was out
he died.
It had been a very sad year, and it would have been much sadder except
for the baby. It was Lidka who took care of him and the house, for
their mother now had to work on a big farm, and was gone all day. When
Jaroslav came down from the pastures, he weeded and spaded in the
garden, because cabbages, potatoes and beans made a large part of their
food.
Jaroslav and Lidka used often to talk of what they would do when they
grew up. Jaroslav would have a trade and Lidka would make beautiful
embroideries. Thus they would earn enough to make everything easy for
their mother. They talked of the Great Amber Road, too, and tried to
trace on the map where it must have run. For them the wealth of amber
had the fascination that Captain Kidd’s treasure has had for American
boys and girls. But it took a long time to grow up, and in the meantime
it troubled Jaroslav that he could find no way of earning more than he
did earn by guarding the village cows. On Saturday night, when he was
paid for the week’s work, he never had more than six or eight crowns to
take home. At such times he thought longingly of the Great Amber Road
and the treasure that he felt sure lay at the end of it.
To-day was Saturday, and as he looked out over the sunny landscape he
said to himself that there was no use in merely _dreaming_ of the Great
Amber street. He must really start on his quest if he meant to succeed.
‘I’ll go to-morrow,’ he said, ‘while Mother and Lidka are at church. I
can take the week’s wage with me, and when it is gone I will play for
my meals.’
He had often noticed a faint streak of roadway between the hills,
running north and south, which he felt would at least lead him in the
direction in which he wished to go. Now he carefully noted certain
landmarks and decided to find his way to them to-morrow.
That night he received nine crowns fifty, the most he had ever had for
a week’s work, and he went home elated, rattling the handful of coins
in his pockets.
He weeded and hoed in the garden until the great white moon seemed
caught in the top of the pine tree, for he could not bear the thought
that while he was away the slugs might make an end of the cabbages and
potatoes.
Early the next morning Lidka and his mother went to church, leaving
Jaroslav in charge of the baby. He took out his Sunday shirt of white
linen and his vest of black cloth, embroidered with silver and green.
Then he brushed his hair carefully. Flick sat thumping his tail. But
the baby, who should have slept, waved his arms in the air and crowed
in a frantic effort to lift his head from the pillow. Jaroslav took
down his violin and rubbed it tenderly with his sleeve. Then he fell on
his knees beside the cradle and began softly to play the Hillside Song.
[Illustration: BEGAN SOFTLY TO PLAY THE HILLSIDE SONG]
The baby grew quiet and looked at Jaroslav with wide, dreamy eyes,
but Jaroslav turned his head away. He could not look at the little
fellow and think of leaving him.
The room was very still. Only the voice of the violin trembled in and
out of the shadowy corners, and presently the baby dropped quietly to
sleep.