AN EXCURSION
During the meal that followed, the farmer turned to his son with: "You will have to go to the Convent for me this afternoon. I can't spare the time myself. And perhaps"—here he turned to Mrs. Popescu—"you and your son might like the trip. It would give you a chance to see one of our old-time institutions."
Mrs. Popescu thanked him. "Nothing could be pleasanter," she said.
Soon all three were seated on a rough timber cart with apparently nothing to hold it together. To the cart were harnessed two moody looking buffaloes with horns lying almost flat along their necks. The cart swayed and twisted up the rough road when suddenly Nicolaia gave an excited exclamation. They were just in themiddle of one of the great swollen streams that flowed everywhere over the mountains.
"What has happened?" asked Mrs. Popescu anxiously, for Nicolaia was standing up and urging the animals forward.
Nicolaia gave a short, funny laugh. "The buffaloes want to take a bath," he answered, and again shouted at them. Fortunately, after a display of much stubbornness on their part, he did persuade them that neither the time nor the place was suitable for bathing, and they moved slowly on.
After safely passing through all the ruts and bogs, the creaking cart at length stopped before what was called the "Guest House" on one side of an old half-deserted convent. A servant dressed in the national costume, with a wide hat on his long curling hair, came to meet them and bid them welcome. Later one of the inmates, an elderly woman in a loose brown dress, appeared bringing coffee, preservedfruit, and buffalo milk, which Jonitza thought had a very peculiar flavor.
After they had partaken of this refreshment and expressed their appreciation of the courtesy, and while Nicolaia was busy with his errand, Mrs. Popescu and Jonitza visited the church of the Convent and looked at the crude frescoes of heaven and hell that adorned its walls. There were many ikons or pictures of saints about, for Roumania is a Greek Catholic country like Russia. The large size of the Convent showed that it must have enjoyed great prosperity in former times. Now a deep quiet reigned everywhere.
Nicolaia grew quite talkative on the way back; he told of the source of one of the streams that they passed and how difficult it was to get to it, of a hermit cave in another part of the mountains in which the bats fly at you when you enter, and finally, of some of his own immediate plans. He talked at length about a friendcalled Demetrius, who lived on the other side of the village and whom he planned to see on the following day, when his own work was done. "Would you like to visit him with me?" he asked, turning politely to Jonitza.
"Like!" repeated Jonitza almost rudely. "Of course."
They were passing through the village at the time and Mrs. Popescu noticed that on certain houses a flower was painted. She pointed this out. "That," explained Nicolaia, "is to let every one know that a maiden lives there."
A little further on they met a branch entwined cart. In it sat two girls gayly talking. One of them called to Nicolaia in passing.
The girls did not look at all alike and Mrs. Popescu wondered if they were sisters.
"No," said Nicolaia, "they are onlysurata, that is, they have adopted each other as sisters. Any girls can do that if they love each other enough. I was at the Church when the ceremonywas performed, and saw their feet chained together in token of the bond. It made them the same as born sisters. Sometimes a young man adopts another young man for his brother in the same way. The priest always asks them if they are sure of their affection, for he says the ceremony makes the new relationship very binding."
ST. GEORGE'S DAY
The next day the boys walked over to the home of Nicolaia's village friend, Demetrius, and here a delightful surprise awaited them. Two young bear cubs trotted like dogs at the feet of the village boy as he came to meet them.
"Where did you get these?" both boys shouted with delight.
"From my uncle," returned Demetrius. "He captured them after their mother had been killed. At first they had to be fed sheep milk with a spoon."
As he spoke, one of the little fellows ran up a tree in the yard and the other began to play with a young puppy. Soon the boys were trying to help Demetrius teach them to turn somersaultsand do other tricks. They gave this up only when they remembered there were other things to settle before parting. These things all related to St. George's Day, or, as it is sometimes called, the "Witch's Sabbath." This would come the very last of the week. There were mysteries in regard to the day, for the boys spoke in whispers while Jonitza was trying to make one of the bears jump through a hoop. He was so much interested in the antics of the little creatures that he paid no attention until just at leaving he heard something which made him open his eyes wide. Hidden treasure was to be found!
On the way home he answered Nicolaia in monosyllables and looked moody, much to the latter's surprise. "What's the matter?" Nicolaia finally asked.
For answer Jonitza glared and then burst out with: "What have I done that you won't let me go with you on St. George's Eve?"
Nicolaia was taken aback. "You've done nothing," he made haste to say. "But this must be kept a secret and your mother wouldn't like your going."
"I won't tell her," said Jonitza, wincing a little as he spoke; "that is—not until—eh—I show her the treasure. Then she won't care."
Nicolaia looked up and down the road as if trying to find a way out of a difficulty. At last he said faintly, "Well, all right, if you can meet us in the yard by the cow-sheds at ten o'clock."
On the day before the "Witch's Sabbath," Jonitza watched Nicolaia's father cut square blocks of turf and place them before every door and window of the farm-house and stables. "Why are you doing that?" he asked. The farmer smiled at him but did not answer. Katinka, however, came and whispered that it was to keep out the witches. She turned from him to help her father place thorn branches hereand there in the cut turf. Jonitza followed every act with a fascinated air. "What's that for?" he asked her. "The witches run when they see thorns," she explained, smiling at the thought.
Two of the men who were helping on the farm at the time, offered to keep watch all night near the stables lest the witches should charm the cattle and do them harm. Mrs. Popescu, who heard them make the offer, asked them if they really believed in witches.
They looked at her with the air of grown up children. "If it wasn't witches," said one with a triumphant air, "what made old Theodoresco's cow give bloody milk last year for several months beginning the very next day after the 'Witch's Sabbath'?" Mrs. Popescu, seeing that it would be useless to argue the question, left them.
A half hour later, Nicolaia appeared and beckoned to Jonitza to follow him indoors.Here he took an earthen jar from a closet. "What do you think that is?" he asked.
"One of your mother's jars," Jonitza answered.
"No," said Nicolaia without smiling. "Put your hand inside and see what you find."
Jonitza did so and brought out some ancient coins dating back to pre-Roman times.
"My father is keeping these for luck. He found them when he was plowing," said Nicolaia. "I am showing this to you because I thought you ought to know that it may be that kind of treasure that we'll find to-night."
Jonitza had this constantly in mind the rest of the day. "How wonderful it would be to find a real treasure," he kept thinking. He ate little for supper, went to bed at once when his mother suggested it, and tried very hard to keep from falling asleep. But alas, despite his efforts, sleep came and it was a very deepsleep, so that when he awoke it was bright morning.
He hurried out, ashamed of himself, and found his friend looking very drowsy and grinning in a somewhat downcast way. In answer to Jonitza's hurried explanations of what had happened to himself and urgent questions, Nicolaia said: "It was just after ten o'clock when we started. I was relieved that you didn't appear, for I didn't know what might happen. There was no moon at the time, but the stars were out, and as we know the hills well, Demetrius and I had no trouble making our way over them. We heard all sorts of strange noises, but we weren't a bit afraid. I thought we should surely find the treasure. You see, they say around here that it is easiest for the one born on a Sunday or at midday; and Demetrius was born just two minutes after noon on a Sunday. So that ought to count.
"We spoke only in whispers as we tried tolook in every direction at once. Each of us wanted to be the first to see the blue flame which shows where the treasure lies hidden. It must have been past midnight when Demetrius seized hold of my arm. I felt his hand tremble.
Two boys standing by fire, someone approaching'WE STOOD AS IF PARALYZED'"
'WE STOOD AS IF PARALYZED'"
"'Do you see that?' he whispered.
"I looked where he pointed and saw in the distance what really seemed like a tiny fire. It was not particularly blue but we did not think of that. I felt for my knife, for it must be thrown through the flame so that the spirits who guard the treasure won't harm you.
"'Have you your knife?' I whispered back.
"'Yes,' returned Demetrius. 'I'll throw first, and if I miss, you throw right after.' Before this we had not minded anything, but now as we crept on, we shuddered whenever we stepped on a dry twig or caused a stone to roll down hill.
"As we came nearer there was no sign of flame but there were bright patches on theground as if from the remains of a fire. This could just be seen around a big bowlder where we stopped for a moment to gain courage for the final step.
"As we stood there we heard a sound as of some creature rolling over. Then on the other side of the big rock, a huge form arose. We distinctly heard some cuss words and a threat so terrible that we stood as if paralyzed. Suddenly the figure began to move, and forgetful of everything else but our own safety, we ran down the hillside, stumbling over each other, now rolling a way, tearing our clothes on thorn bushes, and generally having a hard time until we both landed in a brook. We crawled out very much chilled and stood listening. Everything about us was quiet, so I don't know whether we were followed or not. However, we did not dare return.
"So, of course, we didn't get any treasure. My father says it was probably some old gypsy,but I know it was a bad spirit, for as I have said, it was after midnight, and good spirits show the flame only till twelve. When it is seen later, the treasure is guarded by bad spirits."
THE CASTLE OF STEPHEN THE GREAT
How quickly the month at the farm-house passed! Every day there was so much to see and do, and once in a while there was an excursion to some place of interest. The furthest one taken was when Jonitza and Katinka went with the maid who had accompanied Jonitza's mother to the country, for a couple of days' visit to her home in a place called Niamtz.
The day after they reached the straggling village, the children were allowed out to play. They were attracted to a great red earth cliff, where they began digging tunnels and building little cave houses. Tiring of that they wandered up toward the cliff's summit, gatheringthe beautiful wild flowers that they found on the way, and resting now and then under some leafy tree. When they reached the top they both shouted with delight at finding the ruins of a castle. What a delightful place in which to play! There were four corner towers, strong buttresses and battlemented walls, as well as a large moat all the way around, now overgrown with trees.
Jonitza, who was blessed with a good memory, recalled what he had been told about the place and so hastened to instruct Katinka in his own fashion, emphasizing every word that he considered of importance. "This," said he, in his tutor's manner, "is the old castle celebrated in many of our songs, of one of our greatest kings calledStephen the Great.
"One day, Stephen the Great was fighting the Turks who werewinning. He thought it was no use fighting any longer and made for home as quickly as he could. He thoughthismotherwould begladhe wasn't killed. But instead of that she met him at thebiggate you see over there, and told him he ought to be ashamed togive up; that he was fighting to free his people, and that she wouldn'teveropen the gates to him and his army unless he came back asvictor." (Here Jonitza gave an especial emphasis to the last word.) "So Stephen said, 'All right,' and went back. He met the Turks in a narrow valley and was so mad that he killed almost every one of them. He was a very brave man, and I'm going to be like him."
These last words were hardly spoken when there was a clap of thunder and flash of lightning, followed by a sudden heavy downpour of rain. The children hurried to shelter which they found in one of the towers.
Boy and girl, someone in doorway in background"IT WAS ONLY MARITZA"
"IT WAS ONLY MARITZA"
It was dark there and the wind and rain threatened to break through the walls. Bat-like things flew about, and strange noises, likethe mournful voices of imprisoned spirits, began to be heard. Jonitza lost his brave air entirely as he and his companion crouched side by side against one of the walls. Suddenly there was a peculiarly long whistle, probably made by the wind passing through some crevice. Katinka gave a little shriek. "It is theStafii," she cried, clinging to her friend.
Jonitza, though trembling, put his arm around her. He knew very well that she was referring to harmful elves whom all the Roumanian country folk believe dwell in ruins and are always unfriendly to human beings. He tried to think of something comforting to say, but at first only managed to clear his throat. After a bit what he did whisper was: "We ought to have some milk to give them." At this Katinka cried more than ever. "That's what they say, but we haven't any, we haven't any," she repeated almost in a shriek.
This was followed by another shriek as a dark form shut out what little light reached them. But it was only Maritza, who had come with a big umbrella to their rescue.
A SPINNING BEE
The evening before they left Niamtz, a crowd of Maritza's girl friends gathered at her home for a Spinning Bee.
They came with heads uncovered, for only married women in Roumania wear veils or kerchiefs. They were all dressed in holiday finery, with their hair beautifully waved.
At first a merry little maiden with very red cheeks, and very black eyebrows over sparkling eyes, and black hair twisted into a double plait, came in for a good deal of teasing for some reason or other. She didn't seem to mind it and her bright answers caused much laughter and good feeling. Finally she succeeded in drawing attention from herself by asking a riddle.This was followed by another and another until everybody in the room was guessing.
Then Maritza's mother, who had been busy getting refreshments ready, came in exclaiming, "Time for work, girls!"
At this there was a general cry of "Maritza!" "We want Maritza!" "Maritza must be our leader!"
Maritza stepped forward with some show of reluctance. "There are better spinners and better singers than I am," she said modestly. But the girls, rising quickly, formed a ring around her, singing in chorus, "It's you we want."
Then Maritza took her spindle and began to spin. At the same time she improvised a strange song all about a mysteriousheidukor chieftain who passed through their village. Suddenly she threw her spindle to the black-eyed, red-cheeked maiden, holding it by a long thread as she did so. The merry maidencaught it and was obliged to continue both the spinning and singing while Maritza pulled out the flax. This required much dexterity.
When each girl had had her turn, both in spinning and singing, refreshments were passed around. There wasmamaliga, baked pumpkin, potatoes, and last of all, plenty of popcorn.
Then, while all seated resumed their work, one of their number was begged for a story.
She smilingly consented, and told the following strange and pathetic tale.
The Story of a Lilac Tree
"This is a story of what once must have taken place, for if it had never occurred, I would not now have it to tell.
"In a little valley among the high mountains, there lived a maiden all alone. She worked all day at her spinning and weaving and sang with joy as she worked.
"So the years went on, each year adding loveliness to her face and figure. One day when out gathering firewood for her small needs she heard what sounded like a cry of pain. Making her way into the thicket she found a man sorely wounded.
"She spoke to him but he had become unconscious, and, not knowing what else to do, she took him in her strong arms and carried him to her hut and laid him on her own bed. Then she washed out his wounds and tended him like a sister.
"As soon as he could speak, he tried to express his gratitude. 'Dear maiden,' he said, 'had it not been for you I should never again have seen the light of day, and even as it is, I fear I shall never walk again. For it was no ordinary mortal by whom I was wounded, but a demon of some kind who threatened that even should I survive, all power to move my legs will have left me. Of what good will life thenbe to me? Trouble yourself no longer, sweet maiden, to cure me. Rather let my wounds bleed anew.'
"But the beautiful girl shook her head. 'Why should we believe all that ill?' she said. 'I am skilled in herb lore and shall cure you.'
"For more than a week the man lay in bed while the girl tended him. And she grew to love him, he was so patient, so grateful for all she did. Then, one morning, he looked brightly at her: 'Lo, I am cured.' And he sat up in bed. But when he tried to get down he could not.
"And the next day it was the same and the next. But the man did not speak of any disappointment. Instead, he told his nurse strange stories of the life he had seen, and one day something that she found hard to bear. It was of the beautiful woman whom he loved and would have wed.
"The maiden, though now sad, still tendedhim faithfully, but to no avail. At last, in her distress, she sought out a witch who was famed for her wisdom over the whole mountain side.
"'The man is under enchantment,' said the old woman. 'He knows his cure, but will not tell it to thee.'
"'Tell me what it is!' exclaimed the maiden. 'I will pay any price for the cure!'
"'Are you sure?' asked the witch with a disagreeable laugh.
"'I am sure,' answered the maiden.
"'Know then,' said the witch, 'that only a virgin life like yours can save him. Will you give your life?'
"The girl looked down in thought. At last she spoke. 'If it is indeed so, why should I not? He is strong again and the world has need of him. He loves another from whom only bewitchment separates him. The happiness of two is worth the sacrifice of one. I will give my life that they may wed.'
"The next morning when the man made his daily trial to arise, he found to his amazement that he could do so. He looked around for the maiden, but she was nowhere to be seen. He waited all day and till the next morning but she did not come. Then, full of regret, he went away. Near the threshold of the hut he stopped to pick a branch of fragrant lilac. As he did so, the whole bush swayed with delight, and it seemed to him that a spirit within it called his name as he turned away."
NEW PLANS
Jonitza tried to forget that the time for leaving the country was approaching. The month had meant much to him. It had made a remarkable change in his appearance. His listless air had given way to a wide awake interested look, and his pale cheeks had already something of a ruddy hue.
Although for her own sake, Mrs. Popescu longed for a return home, she felt something like guilt in taking her son back with her. Every night she gave much thought to the subject and every night she knelt in prayer before the ikon that hung in her bedroom, asking that light be given her as to her duty. Finally, unable to decide, she wrote a long letter to her busy husband and begged his advice.
Instead of a written answer, her husband himself arrived. His solution of the difficulty startled her.
"Why shouldn't Jonitza accompany Nicolaia as a sheep herder into the Carpathians?"
"I'm afraid," she said, "there are gypsies there—and bad shepherds—and wild animals—and the life is too hard."
Her husband made light of all these things. "I've talked it over," he said, "with the Doctor. He declares that the only trouble with our boy is that we've molly-coddled him. He advised me to trust him to Nicolaia, whose family he knows. He says that Jonitza is just the age to enjoy the experience and that he will thank us all his life for it."
But at first Mrs. Popescu did not agree. "He has grown much heartier," she said. "Perhaps he would get along very well at home now."
So it was not settled until after the wholething was talked over with the peasant and his wife and Mrs. Popescu was persuaded that her son would be in safe hands and that, besides, the dangers were less than in the city. Then Katinka was sent to call in the boys who were busy as usual with some outside work. They came in with a surprised air, but when all was explained to them both set up a shout that echoed from the darkened rafters of the room.
Mr. Popescu laughed with pleasure. "Can that be really my son?" he said.
IN THE CARPATHIANS
"I feel as free as a bird!" Jonitza could not help exclaiming when they had actually started with their flocks for the Carpathian mountains. Like his friend, he was dressed in typical shepherd costume, consisting of a coarse white linen shirt and trousers, a long mantle of very heavy wool, and a straight round sheepskin cap. His very shoes were the same, for the boys had fashioned both pair together. They were made of pieces of goatskin that had been soaked in water until soft, gathered into pleats by means of thongs over the ankles, while other bits of thong held them securely in place.
They had a big flock of sheep under their charge, for besides those belonging to Nicolaia'sfather they were to herd those belonging to the richest man in that neighborhood. Besides the sheep, two intelligent wolf dogs belonging to the neighbor went with them, as well as a donkey, to be used later to carry the packs of cheese and milk.
It was high time for the boys to start, for the other shepherds had gone, and the hot Roumanian summer was beginning to be felt.
Although Nicolaia had already spent two summers on the mountains this was the first time that he was in charge of so large a flock. In consequence he shared some of Jonitza's excitement. There was another reason why this summer might prove a notable one for him. It was probably his last experience of the kind, for his parents had decided to have him apprenticed that autumn to his uncle, a cabinet maker in the city of Bukurest, and apprenticeships in Roumania are for six years.
It was a hard climb for the boys. At firstas they made their way upward they occasionally passed one-room shanties, each shared by an entire family and all the domestic animals. At the last one of these they stopped to ask for a drink of water. The door was open and inside they could see the scanty furniture—a rude table, a bench, a stove, and a cot covered with the skins of wild beasts. A fierce looking man answered their call and handed them the water with so surly an air that Nicolaia, who was accustomed to the great hospitality of the section where he lived, felt a mingling of amazement and indignation. There was no garden of any kind around this house, but there was a wealth of wild flowers. Yellow foxgloves, gladiolas, and wild honeysuckle seemed determined to make the place a thing of beauty.
Just at noon, near one of the little streams that constantly crossed their path, they came upon a small band of the gypsies that are as numerous in Roumania as in Hungary. By asmall fire over which a kettle hung, sat two women. A short distance from them lay a dark-skinned lad, with matted hair, while leaning against a giant beech on the other side, was a young man playing a weird air that made one think of a mountain storm, on a crude violin.
From this wayside camp, the path wound around and around until at last it suddenly branched into two parts. Nicolaia stopped at this point perplexed. "I do not remember this," he said, as he chose the broader looking of the two roads. Soon, however, he saw the mistake he made in doing so. What he had taken for a path was the channel of a mountain torrent. It ended in a steep abyss, down which some of the sheep had already scrambled.
The boys spent fully half an hour of the hardest kind of work before they got these sheep back. When, shortly after, they came to a grassy valley, both, panting hard, threw themselves under a tree.
"This is where we'll camp for the night," said Nicolaia, "now that we have all the sheep together." As he spoke, he unpacked the supper of cold meat, onions, andmamaligathat they had brought with them. They also helped themselves to a drink of sheep's milk, which is richer and thicker than cow's and of quite a different flavor.
The sun was already low, and when it sank from sight, darkness followed very soon. Quickly wrapping themselves in their mantles, the boys lay down beside their sheep. So strenuous had the day been, that hardly had they exchanged a few sentences than both were fast asleep.
The next day, after an early breakfast, they were again on their way. The scenery around was grandly wild. Enormous birch and oak-trees towered on both sides of the narrow path, while lime-trees gave forth the honeyed sweetness of their blossoms. Here and there aprecipice would yawn on one side of the pathway. No homes of any kind were to be seen.
The afternoon was far advanced when they reached another valley which was to form their headquarters for the summer. Several of the shepherds who shared this section noted their arrival and sent a welcome to them on theirboutchoums, long pipes of cherry wood which can be heard for a great distance. In the Middle Ages, Roumanians used theboutchoumsto proclaim war to the troops.
Nicolaia at once led Jonitza to a sort of cave formed of large, loose stones. "This," he said, "is the store-house of six or eight of us who herd in this vicinity."
The next morning the work began in earnest. Some of it was splendid training. Each day Nicolaia and Jonitza had to creep along the crags with the flocks. Sometimes the footing was very insecure, so it was no wonder that at the end of the first day Jonitza was coveredwith bruises from his many falls. "I'm as stiff as a board, too," he confided to Nicolaia, as they lay down near each other to sleep. But, by the end of the week, the stiffness was entirely gone, and Jonitza could manage to keep his footing on the rocks even better than Nicolaia. By that time, too, he had learned the call that would make the sheep clinging to the steep mountainsides stop eating, look up, and then come scrambling to him.
The donkey had been let loose as soon as the valley was reached and got into all kinds of scrapes from his dislike to being alone. Sometimes when he found that he couldn't follow the sheep, he would stand on a bowlder and bray loudly as if proclaiming to an unsympathetic world his loneliness.
Sometimes the report would spread that wild animals had been seen prowling near. This meant extra watchfulness on the part of the shepherds. But whether there was reasonfor any especial alarm or not, every night each shepherd wrapped himself in his sheepskin or woolen mantle and lay down by his flock ready to spring up at the least sign of danger.
IN THE CARPATHIANS (Continued)
Although Jonitza and Nicolaia could not be constantly together, they tried to share at least one meal every day. Once at such a time Jonitza remarked: "How I wish I could get to the top of that mountain yonder. See what a queer shape it is! It makes me think of the picture of a peak called 'La Omu,' the man."
Nicolaia thought that a funny name. "How did it come to get it?" he asked.
"Let me think," replied Jonitza. "Oh, yes, I remember now what was written about it in my story book. It said that it had another name, 'Negoi,' but that most of the country people preferred 'La Omu' because of its resemblance to a human figure. When one came near he could see that this was caused bya big rock in the center of a mass of others. According to tradition, a shepherd once lost his way there and began to curse God for his misfortune. Suddenly as he was cursing, God turned him into stone as a warning to others."
"Although that probably isn't 'La Omu,'" said Nicolaia, "I should like to climb it nevertheless. Perhaps Vasili would keep an eye on our sheep for a few hours if we asked him."
"Do you think so?" asked Jonitza eagerly. And he at once ran to a bluff and shouted to Vasili, who was stationed nearer to them than any of the other shepherds. Vasili called back good-naturedly, "Go on. I'll see the sheep don't wander far." And the boys started.
It took them half an hour to reach the peak. Gradually, as they ascended it, the pine and fir-trees dwindled into misshapen goblin-like bushes, each of which seemed to be hiding behind one of the great bowlders that were everywhere so plentiful.
two boys and two snakes"THERE . . . LAY TWO LONG SHINY SNAKES"
"THERE . . . LAY TWO LONG SHINY SNAKES"
At one point the boys were clambering up a steep rocky path when suddenly Jonitza gave a shriek and at the same time jumped high into the air. Nicolaia, who was a short distance behind, stopped so suddenly that he almost lost his balance. There, stretched out between the two boys, lay two long shiny snakes sunning themselves and apparently paying no heed to what had happened.
Nicolaia recovered himself first. He grasped tight hold of his shepherd staff and approached. "Pshaw!" he called disdainfully, to Jonitza on the other side. "They're harmless." Then jumping without fear over them, he ran to where his companion, panting hard, was leaning against a bowlder.
Seeing an open space near, the boys looked it over carefully and sat down. "It was the suddenness of seeing the snakes that made me jump," said Jonitza, apparently feeling that his natural action needed explanation. At thisNicolaia chuckled and then began to lecture Jonitza on the necessity of always keeping wide awake in the mountains and never allowing himself to be surprised.
Jonitza did not relish this and interrupted his companion to ask questions. "How is one to tell harmless snakes from others? Have you ever seen snakes just born?"
At this last question, Nicolaia's eyes flashed. "How I wish I could find a snake's nest!" he exclaimed. "Don't you know that precious stones are made from snake saliva? If I found a snake nest, I'd not run but kill the snakes, and then I'd be so rich I'd be able to buy a big farm of my own."
An answering flash came into Jonitza's eyes. "Let's go hunt for one now," he said, springing up. Nicolaia rose more slowly. "I'm willing, but I warn you that we must be careful."
So with their long shepherd staves in theirhands, and keeping watch where they trod, they began a hunt among the bowlders.
How it might have ended no one can tell, for they had gone scarcely twenty yards when they heard a loud cry from down below.
"It must be for us," said Nicolaia, and quite forgetful of snakes or anything else he led the way back as fast as he was able.
When they reached the slopes on which their sheep were grazing, they met a shout of laughter. "It was your donkey," Vasili explained. "He tried, as usual, to follow the flock and this time slipped down between two rocks and couldn't go forward or back. Didn't you hear him bray? I didn't know what to do and so called for you. But in the meantime this other Vasili here came bounding up from nowhere. And you ought to have seen him manage! He tied the donkey's feet together with a thong and lifted him out as easily as one would a baby."
"You know you helped me," said a new voice.
The boys looked up to see a stranger standing near. He was of medium height but thickset and very hardy in appearance. Instead of a sheepskin cap a broad-brimmed hat was set well back over a mass of glossy black curls. His features were regular; his eyes were now smiling but there were angry lines written long before around them. The boys shook hands with him and thanked him. "It was nothing," he said. "Aren't we brothers?"
"Where are you from?"
"I belong to the other side," the youth answered, and then added, "The side that isn't free."
All knew at once that he referred to Transylvania, which, although a part of Hungary, is largely inhabited by Roumanians.
"We intend to make it free," Nicolaia answered with feeling. The Transylvaniansmiled and shook his head. Then, without a word more, he left them.
There was one other shepherd that they learned to know. He was the oldest there and came from Jassy, once the capital of Moldavia, a city so old that the Turks claim that it dates back to the time of Abraham. The Roumanians, however, feel that they can do better than that. They put its foundations to the time of their beloved Trajan!
This shepherd, of whom later they heard strange wild tales, kept much to himself. Often, however, the monotonously melancholy notes of a wooden flute on which he played would reach them. Sometimes, too, especially at early dawn, they would hear him draw forth powerful notes on theboutchoum, such as no other shepherd could equal.
LEAVING THE MOUNTAINS
Thus the summer slowly passed in healthy out-of-door life that began to grow exceedingly monotonous at the end. It was lonely, too, for after the boys became used to the work even the noon meals together became rarer, and sometimes several days passed with no other communication than a few calls to each other.
At last September came. This is the month when the herdsmen take their sheep again to the valleys. The donkey was laden with cheeses of sheep's milk, and the boys followed the procession back to the village from which they had started. They found it delightful to be together again, and somehow, as they talked it over, the summer experience that had begun to be trying regained its charm.
They joked, they told folk tales, and Nicolaia even sang a ballad that had long been a favorite with the Roumanians. It was very touching, and, of course, had to do with a shepherd, of his love for his sheep and his dogs and his longing to lie near them even in death.
Long before they reached the farm-house they had been seen by Katinka who ran out to meet them.
Jonitza found some letters awaiting him. He picked out the daintiest, knowing it to be from his mother, and, begging to be excused, tore it open to read immediately.
It was from Sinaia, the fashionable mountain resort where "Carmen Sylva," the late loved dowager Queen Elizabeth, had had her summer home.
"Your father," said the letter among other things, "has to make a business trip among our Wallachian farmers. He intends to take you with him and finally spend a day or two withme here. Later on, we shall visit relatives for some time at the capital, Bukurest."
Two days later Mr. Popescu took his son away.
As Mr. Popescu's business was with the peasants, most of the trip was made by carriage through the very rich agricultural sections of Wallachia. Now they stopped at the farms of the wealthy, where the very latest in farm machinery could be seen at work; then at some of the hundreds of small farms where the peasants still harvested their grain with the sickle, and threshed it with the flail. On the way they passed orchards of damson plum, from which brandy is made, and vineyards with their rich yield.
The weather favored them. Only once were they caught in a storm. The sky directly above had been monotonously blue for several days when clouds seemed suddenly to form in all directions. A wind arose that soon changedinto a tempest, raising enormous clouds of dust. Angry lightning began to fly across the sky, while not only the thunder but the storm itself threatened. Through the dust they could just make out a tower which showed that they were near a village. The obedient horses strained every sinew to reach it and did just manage to get under cover at a rude inn when enormous hail stones began to fall.
It proved to be rather an interesting place where they had secured shelter, for it was not only an inn but a general store where a little of everything was kept for sale. As no especial room was assigned them, Jonitza felt free to wander about the place. On a sort of screened back porch he found a woman pickling whole heads of cabbage, adding corn-meal to the brine to hasten fermentation. This, when stuffed with chopped pork, onions and rice, forms one of the national dishes.
Mr. Popescu smiled at the supper that wasplaced before them an hour later. There was, of course,mamaligaand its string, with a big pitcher of rich milk, then some salted cheese, raw onions, and some sun-dried beef that had been seasoned with spices and garlic when cooked. The platters, spoons and forks were of wood, the knives alone being of steel.
Although the owner of the inn was evidently pleased at having so much to place before his guests, he seemed to think that he could do still better. "One of my pigs," he said, "is to be killed to-morrow. If you will stay till then I can offer you something really fine."
Although that might not have been the reason, Mr. Popescu decided to stay.
"Come," the landlord's wife said to Jonitza next morning as he sat on the stoop in front of the inn. In answer to her mysterious beckoning, Jonitza followed her to the rear. Here he found a group of men and boys gatheredaround a big fire from which a very pleasant odor rose.
"What is it?" Jonitza inquired. The landlady laughed and then whispered, "The pig has been killed and we are burning off its hair."
After the meat had been exposed to the heat for a sufficient length of time, thin slices were cut off and handed to each person present. This resulted in loud exclamations from some of the children whose fingers were burnt and even louder smacking of lips as the delicious morsels were tasted.
They left late that afternoon for the next village, overtaking on the way a party of reapers with scythes over their shoulders. A young woman crowned with wheaten ears led several others, all of whom chanted some melancholy air about the end of the harvest.
Everywhere they went people sang, the number of folk songs about soldier life being particularly noticeable. Many of these songswere exceedingly touching; some, however, were wild in character. All were full of a spirit of rare bravery and resignation to whatever fate had in store.
At last among the grand forests near the Prahova River, the pretty rustic houses of rural Roumania changed to Swiss looking cottages, and then to fine brown and red-roofed villas, hotels and baths. Sinaia had been reached.
A little apart from the villas stood the Royal Summer Palace, with its tall roofs and glittering pinnacles.
During the trip they had changed vehicles and drivers many times, and now a very old man acted as their coachman. His eyes sparkled as he pointed out the Château. "I lived near here," he said, "when this Château was built for King Carol and Queen Elizabeth, whom they tell me is now generally called 'Carmen Sylva.' My daughter was better acquainted with her than I. Might I tell youthe story, sir? It was not long after the Château was finished that the King and Queen drove up to spend a few days here. They had splendid horses and came fast. My little girl was playing by the roadside and somehow frightened the horses for they leaped to one side. They were brought under control at once, but the child had been more frightened than they and cried loudly.
"Her Majesty must have heard her for she ordered the coachman to stop. When he had done so, she herself got out and went back to my little one, whom she comforted in a few minutes. As she kissed her and put some coins in her hands, she whispered, 'Be ready to pay me a visit to-morrow morning. I'll come for you.'
"We did not think anything of this, but the next day, sure enough, a carriage came to our little hut for Florica. You can imagine our excitement until we had our little one again andheard from her the whole story of her visit to Fairy Land, for that is what the visit to the Château was to her.
"But I have another and better reason to bless her Gracious Majesty. My brother, sir, was blind—couldn't see a thing, sir—and our Queen made him happy, as she did others like him, in the Asylum for the Blind that she founded in Bukurest.
"She was always doing good.
"She liked our peasant ways, sir, she did, and our dress. In the Château she always wore the national costume and all her maids had to do so. Deeper in the woods is a Forester's hut where they tell me she wrote stories and songs like our own."
As the man chatted they approached a deep-roofed chalet from which the sound of merry laughter and conversation was wafted down to them. Then they stopped before it and the next moment Jonitza was in his mother's arms.