GETTING ACQUAINTED
Jonitza and his mother were out early next morning after a breakfast of
bacon and _mamaliga_.
The farm-house at which they were staying looked attractive in its
cleanliness. It had been recently whitewashed and the doors and window
frames painted a bright blue. It was built entirely of timber. The roof
consisted of thin strips of wood laid closely row upon row. Near the
house were some fruit-trees and lilac bushes and a small flower garden
in which basil and gilliflowers, so often mentioned in Roumanian folk
songs, were conspicuous.
Inside, the big living-room had a comfortable, homey air. The walls
were partially covered with hand-woven tapestries. In one corner was
a huge Dutch looking stove, while opposite, under an ikon, stood the
primitive loom that is still to be seen in all Roumanian farm-houses.
Besides the table on which the meals were served, there were some
plain three-legged chairs, a large chest, a smaller table on which the
basket of Easter eggs still stood, and a sort of couch which served
Nicolaia as a bed at night. Its corn husk mattress had a pretty cover
with an embroidered ruffle over it in the daytime. The straw pillows
then changed their clothes for more fancy ones and were placed evenly
against the wall.
Jonitza was anxious to show his mother the sportive pigs and he lost
no time in marching her to them. When she had expressed sufficient
admiration, they wandered to the well with its long sweep to which a
rock was attached, and crossed themselves before the brightly painted
crosses that were on each side of it. Katinka came out with a pitcher
while they stood there, and knelt in prayer before the crosses before
drawing up the water.
"Where is Nicolaia?" they asked her. She pointed to the cow-shed where
they found him hard at work.
He smiled at them in greeting.
"This is my job," he said, "until I take the sheep to pasture in the
mountains, for my mother is to let me do so this year."
Jonitza watched his robust companion with some envy as he went
cheerfully about what he had to do. Nicolaia did it all easily and
quickly; at the same time he did not neglect to make an occasional
pleasant remark, and he did this with the courtesy that seems natural
to the Roumanian peasant. Among other things he told them the names of
some of the beautiful cream-colored oxen that his father owned. They
were very high-sounding ones. There were Antony and Cæsar, Cassius and
Brutus, Augustus, and, of course, Trajan, the finest-looking creature
of all.
Then, almost without warning, the weather changed, a heavy rain setting
in. This caused all, except the father who was absent, to gather in the
big living-room. Here Katinka, in a matter-of-fact way, took out some
embroidery on linen, which at the age of eight she was already getting
ready for her bridal trousseau. Later she showed Mrs. Popescu a rug
that she was beginning to weave as a covering for her bed.
In the meantime, Mrs. Popescu and Maritza also took out some
embroidery, the peasant mother sat down at the loom, and Nicolaia
brought out a bit of wood-carving. This, he said, was now being taught
in the village school. Jonitza alone had no work. He stood for a while
by the window watching the rain splash against it and the wind shake
the trees as if it meant to uproot them. It was not long, however,
before he wandered to where Nicolaia sat and watched him work.
Mrs. Popescu looked over at her idle son several times. A sudden
inspiration made her say: "You seem to carve very nicely, Nicolaia. How
would you like to be Jonitza's teacher and earn a little money of your
own?"
"Will you?" asked Jonitza dropping on the floor beside Nicolaia. The
peasant boy looked up with a pleased smile. "If you think I know
enough," he answered modestly, "I'll be glad to teach you."
Here his mother could not keep from remarking with a proud air: "The
school teacher takes an interest in Nicolaia. He has advised him to
attend the Government School of Fruit Culture which is in the next
village from ours. He says he would learn other things besides taking
care of fruit-trees there. But that isn't possible, for he's promised
as an apprentice to his uncle in Bukurest. Well, he'll learn a great
deal there, too."
"Oh, mother," exclaimed Nicolaia when his mother had left the loom and
taken up some knitting, "while we are working won't you sing some songs
as you do when we're alone?"
His mother's fair face flushed as she looked shyly at Mrs. Popescu. "I
must get things ready for the mid-day meal," she said rising.
As soon as her back was turned, Mrs. Popescu nodded to good-natured
Maritza who understood and began to sing a song about a _heiduk_, the
traditional hero of the Roumanian peasantry, a person as fascinating as
our own Robin Hood. The song told how handsome he was, how winning his
ways, how fearless his manner towards tyrants, how kind to the poor and
unfortunate.
Nicolaia's mother was back in her place before the maid finished. "That
was very nice, dear," she remarked. "And now I can't do less than sing
a song, too. It'll be about a woman, the bravest shepherdess that ever
was seen."
This was evidently a favorite with the children, for they joined in an
odd refrain that occurred every once in a while.
She had scarcely finished when the sun came out to announce that the
rain was over. A moment after the door opened and her husband entered.