DESERTED
BANDA BELA slept heavily through the night. He dreamed in a confused way
that he heard the Gypsies talking and one of them said, "She brings ill
luck. Men ask of her white locks. The boy is well enough, though one
more to feed. But the other brings ill fortune to the band." Another
said, "No ill will come to them." Then he dreamed no more, but slept a
dead and heavy sleep. He was awakened by a hand upon his shoulder. Some
one shook him and he started to his feet to see the shepherd bending
over him.
"What is it?" asked Banda Bela.
"Where is your camp and where is the little girl?" demanded the
shepherd.
Banda Bela looked around him in amazement. Of the Gypsy camp there was
not a trace left, save that dead embers lay where once the fire-pot had
been. Tents, carts, horses, Gypsies,--all had vanished from the face of
the earth as completely as if they had never been there.
"They have gone and left me!" cried Banda Bela. "Marushka! Where is
Marushka?"
"Banda Bela!" called a faint voice behind him, and he turned quickly to
see the little girl sitting under a great poplar tree, rubbing her eyes
stupidly. He ran to her and the shepherd caught her in his arms.
"What happened in the tent last night?" asked Banda Bela.
"Rosa took me on her lap and cried," said Marushka, "then I went to
sleep; but why am I here and where is Rosa?"
"During the night my wife awoke and heard faint sounds of stirring
about outside the tent and muffled horses' hoofs. One of the horse herd
is missing, many things are taken from the cook hut, and the Gypsies are
gone. I do not know why we did not hear them more plainly when they
passed," said the shepherd.
"They always tie up their horses' feet in rags when they travel at
night," said Banda Bela. "Now they may be many miles from here. No one
knows where, for they always cover their tracks. Don't cry, Marushka,
I'll take care of you."
"You are but a child yourself," said the shepherd. "Come to my hut and
eat and then we shall see what is to be done."
Marushka dried her tears and followed Banda Bela. In silence the two
children ate the bread and milk the shepherd's wife prepared for them.
Then Banda Bela said:
"Stay here, Marushka. I am going to the cross-roads to see if they have
left a sign for us, but I do not think it at all likely."
"What sign would they leave?" asked the shepherd.
"When they go and wish their friends to follow they leave at each
cross-road a twig pointing in the direction they have gone. For fear one
would think it but a stray twig they cross it with another, and the
Gypsy always watches for the crossed branches when following a trail."
"You may look, but you will find no crossed branches at the
cross-roads," said the peasant, as Banda Bela ran off. The peasant and
his wife talked together in low tones. Soon the boy came back and shook
his head mournfully.
"They have left no trail," he said. "They left us behind on purpose."
"The draught they gave you was drugged," said the shepherd. "Tell me,
Banda Bela, what will you do?"
"I must take Marushka and go to the city," said the boy. "By walking
slowly and often carrying her we can do it. In the city I can play in
the streets and earn bread for both."
"But do you like the city? It is noisy and dirty. You will not be free
as on the wild," said the peasant's wife.
"I shall like it not at all," said the boy. "But there is nothing else."
"If Marushka will come and live with me I will care for her as my
child," said the shepherd's wife. "She shall have clean clothes and
plenty to eat and a garden with flowers. Will you come, little one?"
Marushka looked up into the kind face and smiled. "I will come if Banda
Bela may come also," she said. The shepherd laughed.
"I told you, Irma, it was useless to take the one without the other.
Take both. Banda Bela will serve you well, of that I am sure."
"That I will," said the boy heartily. "Only take care of Marushka and
sometimes let me play my music and I will do all that you tell me."
"In this world one can but try," said the shepherd's wife, "then see if
good or evil come. I have not the heart to leave these two waifs to
starve on this great plain. Come, Emeric, the horses! It will be night
before I reach home and there will be much to do."
Almost before the children knew it they found themselves seated beside
the shepherd's wife as the cart was whirled along in the opposite
direction from which they had come.
They passed country carts made of a huge pine beam with a pair of small
wheels at either end. Gay parties of peasants were seated on the pole,
the feet braced against a smaller pole.
"What queer-looking people," said Marushka.
"They are not Magyars," said Banda Bela.
"How did you know that?" asked Aszszony Semeyer.
"My father told me many things of Hungary as we travelled together,"
said the boy. "He told me all the history of how the country first
belonged to the Magyars. I remember it almost in the very words he told
me."
"What did he say?" demanded Aszszony Semeyer.
"'Many hundreds of years ago the Hungarian people,' he said," began
Banda Bela, "'were shepherds who tended their flocks upon the plains of
Scythia. The story is that Nimrod, son of Japhet and Enet, his wife,
went into the land of Havila, where Enet had two sons, Hunyar and
Magyar. These grew up to be strong and to love the chase. One day, as
they hunted, they heard sounds of music. These they followed, and came
to the hut of the 'Children of the Bush,' where there were two daughters
of the king, singing beautifully.
"'Hunyar and Magyar married these two sisters, and their lands were not
enough. Westward they moved, from the children of Hunyar coming the
Huns, from Magyar's children, the Magyars.
"'They conquered many peoples, but left to each its customs. All were
ruled under one chief. So that is why we have so many different peoples
to-day.'"
"You know more than I do, Banda Bela," said Aszszony Semeyer.
"My father used to tell me many stories and legends, but I never
remembered them very well."
"Marushka, you will be very tired before you reach the village. Curl up
on the seat and perhaps you can take a nap."
"Yes, Aszszony," Marushka said obediently, and she and Banda were very
quiet.
It was a long drive, but at last the cart rattled down the street of a
large village and drew up in front of a white house. Marushka was
already asleep and had to be carried into the house. Banda Bela stumbled
along after the shepherd's wife and, though with his eyes half shut,
obediently ate the bread and milk she put before him. Then he found
himself on the kitchen floor before a huge tub of water, with a cake of
soap and a large towel.
"Strip! Scrub!" commanded Aszszony Semeyer. "Scrub till you are clean
from head to foot, then dry yourself, and I will bring you some clothes.
You will never see these again." She picked up a brass tongs from the
huge fireplace and with them carried the boy's rags out of the room, her
nose fairly curling at the corners with disgust.
Banda Bela did his best. The water was cold, for Hungarians enjoy cold
baths, and at the first plunge his teeth chattered. But after a while he
rather enjoyed it and scrubbed himself till his dark skin glowed
freshly, in spots, it is true, yet he thought it quite wonderful. Not so
Aszszony Semeyer. She entered the kitchen, red and flushed with her
labours in scouring Marushka.
"You are not clean, no! I will show you--" and she caught up a
scrubbing brush. Banda Bela gasped. He would not cry. He was too big a
boy for that, but he felt as if he were being ironed with a red-hot
iron. Arms, legs, and back,--all were attacked so fiercely that he
wondered if there would be any skin left. Half an hour she worked, then
wiped him dry and said:
"Now you look like a tame Christian! You are not really clean, it will
take many scrubbings to make you that--and more to keep you so--but the
worst is done." She cut his wild locks close to his head and surveyed
her work proudly.
"Not such a bad-looking boy," she said to herself. "Now for a night
shirt and bed." She threw over his head an old cotton shirt and led him
up to the attic. "Sleep here," she said, pointing to a clean little bed
in one corner. "Rest well and to-morrow we shall see what we can do."
"Where is Marushka?" asked Banda Bela.
"Asleep long ago. You shall see her in the morning," and the boy slept.
The sun woke him early and he lay for a few moments looking about the
little room. It was high under the eaves, from which hung long strings
of bright red peppers, drying for the winter's use. The morning sun
glanced on them and turned them to tongues of fire. From the little
window Banda Bela saw down the village street, across the green fields
where sparkled rippling brooks, away to the hills. His heart gave a
great leap. He had not slept in a room before in all his life. He felt
stifled. There was his home, the free, glad _föld_, he would fly away
while yet he could! He sprang from his bed, but where were his rags?
Beside his bed was a clean white suit, whole and neat, though patched
and mended, and as he paused he heard a voice cry out from below:
"Where is my Banda Bela? I cannot eat my _reggeli_[6] without Banda
Bela."
"I must stay with Marushka," he said to himself, and with a sigh he
hurriedly put on the white suit, and ran downstairs. Aszszony Semeyer
was in the kitchen.
"Good morning," she said. "One would not know you for the same boy.
Marushka is in the garden feeding the geese. Run you and help her," and
she pointed to the back of the house, where a little garden was gay with
flowers, herbs, and shrubs.
Banda Bela went to find his little charge, but saw only four or five
geese and a little peasant girl throwing them handfuls of corn. She was
a cute little thing, dressed in a blue skirt, a white waist, and an
apron with gaily embroidered stripes. One plait of fair hair hung down
her back, while another plait was coiled around her head, pressed low on
her brow like a coronet. The child's back was turned toward Banda Bela,
and he was about to ask her if she had seen Marushka, when she turned
and saw him, and then ran to him, crying,
"Oh, Banda Bela! How nice you look! At first I did not know you, but
your eyes are always the same! Haven't I a pretty dress? The shepherd's
wife gave it to me. It belonged to her little girl who is dead! Is she
not good to us, Banda Bela?"
The boy's sense of gratitude was lively, but the memory of the fearful
scrubbing he had received was equally strong within him, and he said:
"She is very good, yes--but, Marushka, did she scrub you last night?"
"Oh, yes, very hard, but I like the feel of myself this morning. Don't I
look nice?"
"I should never have known you, and you certainly look nice. I hope you
will be happy here."
"Oh, I am very happy," she said, brightly. "Of course I could not be if
you were not here, but if you stay with me I shall like it very much.
You will stay always, won't you?"
Banda Bela looked across the tiny little garden to the sweep of blue
hills beyond the town. They glistened with dew in the morning sun. How
fair they looked! But the child's sweet eyes were upon him wistfully and
he could not resist their pleading, though the _föld_ and air and sky
all called to him and claimed him as their own. He knew how hard it
would be for a _Gletecore_ to resist the call of the wander spirit, but
to Marushka he said:
"I shall stay with you as long as you need me," and Marushka smiled
happily.
"I shall always need you," she said. "So always I shall have you. Now
come and see the geese," and she led him to see the white-feathered
creatures with whom she had already made friends. There were two big
black hairy pigs beside, and from their pen these grunted cheerfully at
the children as Aszszony Semeyer called them in to breakfast.
FOOTNOTE:
[6] Breakfast.