impression we are on the right
track at last, and that you will find the money."

"I begin to think so too," answered Gyuri, who was in turns optimist or
pessimist, as the occasion presented itself.

"But what can have become of old Muencz?"

"We Christians have a legend about the Jews which says, that on the Long
Day every year a Jew disappears from the earth and is never seen again.
Old Jonas disappeared thus fourteen years ago (you may be sure none of
the Rothschilds will disappear in that way). His wife and children
waited for him in vain, Jonas never returned. So his sons set out to
look for him, and it turned out the old fellow had got soft-headed, and
had taken to wandering about in the Slovak villages, where the sons now
and then heard of him from people who had seen him; and then one day,
they found his dead body in the Garam."

The young lawyer's face was clouded again.

"Why, in that case the umbrella will be in the Garam too, probably."

"Perhaps not," was the answer. "He may have left it at home, and if so,
it will still be among the old rags and bones of the Muencz's, for I am
sure no one would ever buy it. Try your luck, my boy! If I were you I
would get into a carriage, and drive and drive until ..."

"But where am I to drive to?"

"Yes, of course, of course."

Then, after a minute's thought:

"Muencz's sons have gone out into the world, and the boxes of matches
with which they started have probably become houses since then. But I'll
tell you what; go to Babaszek, their mother lives there."

"Whereabouts is Babaszek?"

"Quite near to Zolyom, among the mountains. There is a saying that all
the sheep there were frozen to death once, in the dog-days."

"And are you sure Mrs. Muencz lives there?"

"Quite sure. A few years ago they came and fetched her away to be the
'Jewess of Babaszek.'"

CHAPTER II.

OUR ROSALIA.

Yes, they had taken old Mrs. Muencz to Babaszek to be their "Jew," with
forty florins salary, for they had no Jew there, and had to find one at
any cost.

This is how it came to pass (and it is difficult for an inhabitant of
Budapest to understand it). Babaszek was one of those small towns which
in reality was only a larger village, though it rejoiced in what it
called its "mayor," and on one day in the year a few miserable horses,
cows, and pigs were driven in from the neighboring farms and villages,
and the baker from Zolyom put up a tent, in which he sold ginger