people. When Ghitza was ten years old, he worked alongside
the men; and there was none better to try a horse before a customer than
Ghitza. The oldest and slowest gathered all the strength it had and
galloped and ran when it felt the bare boy on its back. Old mares
frisked about like yearlings when he approached to mount them.

In his fifteenth summer he was a man, tall, broad, straight and lissom
as a locust tree. His face was like rich milk and his eyes as black as
the night. When he laughed or sang--and he laughed and sang all the
time--his mouth was like a rose in the morning, when the dewdrops hang
on its outer petals. And he was strong and good. If it happened that a
heavy cart was stuck in the mud of the road and the oxen could not budge
it, Ghitza would crawl under the cart, get on all fours, and lift the
cart clear of the mud. Never giving time to the driver to thank him, his
work done, he walked quickly away, whistling a song through a trembling
leaf between his lips. And he was loved by everybody; and the women died
just for the looks of him. The whole tribe became younger and happier
because of Ghitza. We travelled very much those days. Dobrudja belonged
yet to the Turks and was inhabited mostly by Tartars. The villages were
far apart and very small, so we could not stay long in any place.

When Ghitza was twenty, our tribe, which was then ruled by my mighty
grandfather, Lupu, happened to winter near Cerna Voda, a village on the
other side of the Danube. We sold many horses to the peasants that
winter. They had had a fine year. So our people had to be about the inn
a good deal. Ghitza, who was one of the best traders, was in the inn the
whole day. He knew every one. He knew the major and his wife and the two
daughters and chummed with his son. And they all loved Ghitza, because
he was so strong, so beautiful, and so wise. They never called him
"tzigan" because he was fairer than they were. And there was quite a
friendship between him and Maria, the smith's daughter. She was glad to
talk to him and to listen to his stories when he came to the smithy. She
helped her father in his work. She blew the bellows and prepared the
shoes for the anvil. Her hair was as red as the fire and her arms round
and strong. She was a sweet maid to speak to, and even the old priest
liked to pinch her arms when she kissed his hand.

Then came spring and the first Sunday dance in front of the inn. The
innkeeper had brought a spec