AT THE GULYAS' HUT
FROM the Gypsy camp came sounds of wailing. Loud and long the howls
arose and Banda Bela sprang from the ground where he had spent the
night, to see what was the trouble. He found a group of Gypsies gathered
around the door of one of the tents, the women seated on the ground,
rocking back and forth, wailing, while the men stood in stolid silence.
Then Marushka stole timidly to his side and whispered, "Oh, Banda Bela,
old Jarnik is dead. He died in the night." The child's eyes were red
with weeping. "They did not know it till the morning. Poor old Jarnik!
He was so good and kind!"
Banda Bela looked anxious. Waif and stray that he was he had grown
quickly to know his friends from his enemies. Jarnik had been his
friend. Now that he was gone would the other Gypsies befriend him? The
lonely boy had learned to love little Marushka and hated the thought of
leaving her, but he felt that without Jarnik he would not long be
welcome in the Gypsy camp. Silently he took the child by the hand and
led her away from the wailing crowd of Gypsies.
"We can do no good there, little one," he said. "Come with me. I have a
bit of bread from yesterday." Marushka's sobs grew less as he seated her
by the roadside and gave her bits of bread to eat.
"Do not cry, little one," he said gently. "Jarnik was old and tired and
now he is resting. You must be all mine to care for now. I shall ask
Stepan to give you to me." He thought over the last talk he had had
with Jarnik.
"Take care of the little one," the old man had said. "She has no one
here in all the tribe. She is not a Gypsy, Banda Bela. We found her one
day beneath a tall poplar tree beside the road, far, far from here. She
could scarcely speak, only lisp her name, ask for 'Mother,' and scold of
'bad Yda.' She was dressed in pretty white clothes and we knew she was
the child of rich persons. My daughter had just lost her baby and she
begged for the child, so we took her with us. The Gypsies say she will
bring bad luck to the tribe, for people say she is stolen, so you must
care well for her. There are those in the tribe who wish her ill."
Banda Bela remembered this, and thought how he could protect the little
girl from harm. Childlike, her tears soon dry, Maruskha prattled about
the sunshine and the sky. As they sat, a huge cloud of dust came down
the road. Nearing them, it showed a peasant cart drawn by five fine
horses, and in it sat a large peasant woman, broad-bosomed and kindly
faced. She smiled as the children stared up at her, and the cart rumbled
on and stopped at the shepherds' huts.
Attracted by the gay harness of the horses, the children wandered toward
them.
"Good morning, little folk," called out their friend of the night
before. "Come and eat again with me. Here is my wife come to spend a few
days with me. She has good things in her pockets." Marushka went up to
the peasant woman and looked into her face and then climbed into her
lap. "I like you," she said, and the woman's arm went around her.
"Poor little dirty thing!" she exclaimed. "I wish I had her at home,
Emeric, I would wash and dress her in some of Irma's clothes and she
would be as pretty as a wild rose."
"I wash my face every morning," said Marushka, pouting a little. "The
other Gypsy children never do." Her dress was open at the neck and
showed her little white throat, about which was a string, and the
shepherd's wife took hold of it.
"Is it a charm you wear, little one?" she asked.
"No, that is my mother's picture," said Marushka, pulling out of her
dress a little silver medal.
"Let me see it." The shepherd's wife examined the bit of silver.
"Emeric!" she called to her husband in excited tones. "See here! This is
no Gypsy child! Beneath her dress her skin is white--her hair is
gold--her eyes are like the sky, and around her neck she wears the
medal of Our Lady. She is of Christian parents. She must have been
stolen by those thieving Gypsies. What do you know of Marushka?" she
demanded, turning to Banda Bela, but the boy only shook his head.
"I have been with the band only a few weeks," he said. "Old Jarnik told
me that they found the child deserted by the roadside and took care of
her."
"A likely story," sniffed the woman. "I shall go and see this Jarnik!"
"But he cannot answer--" began Banda Bela, when the good woman
interrupted--
"Not answer! Boy! there is no man, be he Gypsy or Christian, who will
not answer me!" The shepherd nodded his head reminiscently.
"Jarnik won't," said Marushka. "He's dead!"
"Dead!" The woman was a little disconcerted.
"He died during the night," said Banda Bela. "There is great wailing for
him now. We came away because nobody wanted us around. They will wail
all day."
"Eat with us again, children," said the kind-hearted shepherd. "Your
cheeks are the cheeks of famine. You are hungry, both eat! and the boy
can make music for us. There will be time enough to question the Gypsies
to-morrow."
Before the herder's hut a bough with several short branches protruding
from it had been thrust into the ground, and upon these cooking pots had
been hung. Soon _goulash_ was simmering in the pot, and _kasa_ was
tossed together. The peasant's wife had brought bread and fine cheese,
and curious-looking things which the children had never seen before.
"These are potatoes," said she. "They are new things to eat in this part
of the country. The Government wants to encourage the people to earn
their living from the earth. So it has made a study of all that can be
raised in the country. Hungary produces grapes, maize, wheat, cereals,
hemp, hops, and all manner of vegetables, and the State helps the people
to raise crops in every way that it can. About five years ago the head
of the Department of Agriculture decided that the people should be
taught to raise potatoes, which are cheap vegetables and very
nourishing. Arrangements were made with three large farms at Bars,
Nyitra, and Szepes, to raise potatoes from seeds sent them by the
Department. The next season these potatoes were distributed for seed to
smaller farmers, with the condition that they in turn distribute
potatoes for seed to other farmers. In this way nearly everyone soon was
raising potatoes.
"Sit and eat," said she, and the children feasted royally. There was
white wine to drink, but Marushka had buffalo's milk, cool and sweet.
The little girl's face was smiling and she looked bright and happy.
Then Banda Bela played his very best, for the kindness had won his
heart.
"Can you sing, boy? Have you music in your throat as well as in your
fingers?" asked the shepherd's wife.
"I sing a little, yes," he answered. "I will sing to you the 'Yellow
Cockchafer,' which Czuika Panna sang to Ràkoczi."[5]
[Illustration: Music]
Cserebogár sarga cserebogár
Nem Kérdem én töled mi Korlesz nyár
Ast sem Kérdem sokáig élek e?
Csak azt mond meg rozsámé leszek e?
"Little Cockchafer, golden fellow,
I ask thee not when comes the summer time,
Nor do I ask how long shall life be mine.
I ask thee but to tell me
When I my love's shall be."
The boy's voice was sweet and true, and he sang the little song
prettily, but so mournfully that tears streamed down the broad, red face
of the peasant woman.
"Why do you sing to break one's heart?" she demanded, and Banda Bela
answered:
"I sang it but as my mother sang when she was here."
"She is dead, then?"
"She and my father, my brothers and sisters. I have no one left." The
boy's face clouded.
"Me you have," said Marushka, with a funny little pout.
"I must go to my herd now," said the shepherd. "Come back to-night and
we shall give you your supper for another song."
They reached the shepherd's hut that evening to find his wife awaiting
him, but he did not come. He was far away with his herd. As it grew dark
his wife gave the children bread and milk and bade them hurry to bed.
"It is late for little children like you," she said. "To-morrow we will
see you again. To-day I asked about you at the camp and got but black
looks in answer."
Banda Bela hurried Marushka away, fearing a scolding, for he had not
meant to stay away all day, but when he reached the camp it was dark and
still. The fire was nearly out under the fire-pot, the tent flaps were
closed. He dared not waken any one, but Dushka, an old Gypsy woman with
an evil face, looked out from her tent.
"Oh, it is you, is it?" she said. "Well, there is no food left, but
drink this and you will sleep," and she gave each of the children a mug
of dark liquid. It tasted bitter but they drank obediently. Then the old
woman took Marushka into her tent while Banda Bela threw himself down
under a poplar tree near the fire embers, and was soon fast asleep.
FOOTNOTE:
[5] A famous Hungarian patriot.