Part 3 (1/2)

And now we must beg our readers to draw on their three-leagued boots, and step into the neighbouring county. Here, too, the roads lie deep in mud; for the rain continues during seven weeks in these districts, as it does in the East Indies. Here, too, are villages on the highroad, and houses with open doors, and travellers hastening towards them. But now it is question of a house whose doors are shut, and of travellers who do not stick in the mud.

A handsome carriage, drawn by four spirited grays, was driven by a young gentleman, while the smart-liveried coachman sat beside him.

The youth was slightly flushed with the exercise: he wore a low-crowned hat, and light summer dolmany, while his embroidered fur cloak lay across the seat. Guiding the horses dexterously over the difficult roads and rickety bridges, he finally turned aside about half way through the village, and drove rapidly towards a dilapidated house, before which he was obliged to rein up his horses, as the _porte-cochere_ was closed.

”Hej! ho!” cried the coachman, leaping from the box, and knocking at the door.

”Go in at the side-door, and open the _porte-cochere_ yourself, Matyi; but take the whip with you, or else the dogs will tear you to pieces.”

The coachman did as he was desired. No sooner had he reached the court, than a terrible encounter took place between the dogs and Matyi, who swore and lashed away with his whip until he had succeeded in opening the gate.

The tumult brought out a buxom dame, whose appearance betokened somewhat more than a cook, and somewhat less than the lady of the house. Standing at the entrance, with her arms a-kimbo, she exclaimed in a sharp, shrill voice: ”What diabolical noise is this, I should like to know? are the Turks or the French coming, eh?”

Meanwhile, Matyi having opened the _porte-cochere_, the carriage drove into the gateway; and the young man, leaping from the box, and throwing the reins to the coachman, stepped up to the dame, who eyed him askance, with an expression of dried plums, as if doing her best to make herself as disagreeable as possible to the new-comers.

”Ah! my sweet Boriska,” said the young man gaily, ”how handsome you have grown since we last met! I thought you were to be married that carnival; but I suppose it was premature, eh?”

”Well, you have grown ugly enough yourself, Master Karely, since I saw you last: you were a pretty child, but I should not have known you again.”

”Thank you, Boriska, dear. Is my uncle at home?”

”Where else should he be?”

”Because I have come to see him, with my mother and sister.”

”What! are they here too?” said the dame, fixing her sharp eyes on the carriage, like a two-p.r.o.nged fork. ”Well, I can't understand how folks can leave home, and wander abroad for weeks.”

”Call my uncle, there's a dear girl, and you can help one another to scold.”

The beauty cast another sour glance at the vehicle, and disappeared into the kitchen. Karely, meanwhile, opened the carriage door, and the mud being deep in the gateway, he lifted out the two ladies in his arms. One was his mother--a calm, ladylike person about forty, with a sweet, melancholy expression: the other was his sister--a merry, mischievous looking little fay of about twelve, with bright sparkling eyes and rosy cheeks, and a constant smile on the never-closed lips.

”Welcome kindly! We will not wait for them,” said Karely, laughing, as he lifted them out and opened the door, which Boriska had shut behind her.

Our readers having had a slight glance at the travellers, I must inform them that the lady who has just arrived is Mrs. Erzsebet Hamvasi, sister of Abraham Hamvasi, to whose house they have come, and which had been left equally to the lady and her brother by their parents--although Erzsebet Hamvasi, subsequently Tallyai, had left her brother in undisturbed possession, only desiring an occasional reception when _en route_.

As Karely opened the door, Boriska appeared at the farther end of the room, calling into the stove: ”Come out; you have guests here.” To which a voice from within responded: ”Let them wait.” After a few minutes, a door opened behind the stove, and a man of spare bent figure advanced towards the travellers. His face was disfigured by small-pox, and rendered grotesque by a pair of stiff gray moustaches, which grew straight forward from under the nose, leaving only the extremities of the lips visible, and giving him very much the appearance of an otter. He wore an old stuff coat--too cool for winter and too warm for summer--the sleeves of which were turned up to the elbow; for he had just come out of the stove, which he had been plastering, and both hands were covered with mortar.

To judge by his countenance, he certainly did not seem endeavouring to look pleased to see his dear relations; and though the lady greeted him amiably, he did not seem much inclined to open the other side of the door at which she was standing, waiting for her brother's welcome.

”What! so many of you!” he exclaimed, pus.h.i.+ng open the door with his elbow; ”where the tartar are you all going?”

The lady shook her head placedly, and pointing to her brother's dirty hands--”How now, dear brother!” she said, in a half reproachful and half jesting tone; ”must you really do such work yourself?”

”It is no shame to work,” replied her brother; ”never trust to others what you can do yourself.”

”I would kiss your hand, dear Uncle Abris, if you would put on gloves,” said Karely, laughing.

”Easy enough for fine gentlemen like you to speak, but a poor man must do what he can.--Boris! bring me a bowl of water to wash my hands, for these gentle folks are ashamed to stand in the room with me.”

”Dirty the dishes, indeed!” cried Boris sharply; ”there is the tub.”