htful it was to arrange things
as he liked! What pleasant dreams he would have lying in his own bed, on
pillows made by his own mother! He thought over it all when he lay down
to sleep, and before going to sleep he counted the corners of the room
so as to be sure and remember his dreams. (The Hungarian peasants say,
that when you sleep in a room for the first time you must count the
corners, then you will remember your dream, which is sure to come true.)
He remembered his dream the next morning, and it was a very pleasant
one. He was chasing butterflies in the fields outside his native
village, looking for birds' nests, playing games with the boys and
girls, having a quarrel with Pali Szabo, and they were just coming to
blows when some one tapped at the window outside.

The priest awoke and rubbed his eyes. It was morning, the sun was
shining into the room.

"Who is it?" he called out.

"Open the door, Janko!"

Janko! Who was calling him Janko? It seemed to him as though it were one
of his old schoolfellows, from whom he had just parted in his dream.

He jumped out of bed and ran to the window.

"Who is it?" he repeated.

"It is I," was the answer, "Mate Billeghi from your old home. Come out,
Janko, no, I mean of course, please come out, your reverence. I've
brought something."

The priest dressed hastily. His heart was beating fast with a kind of
presentiment that he was to hear bad news. He opened the door and
stepped out.

"Here I am, Mr. Billeghi; what have you brought me?"

But Mr. Billeghi had left the window and gone back to the cart, where he
was unfastening the basket containing little Veronica and the goose. The
horses hung their heads, and one of them tried to lie down, but the
shaft was in the way, and when he tried the other side, he felt the
harness cutting into his side, which reminded him that he was not in the
stable, and a horse's honorable feeling will not allow of its lying
down, as long as it is harnessed to the cart. There must be something
serious the matter to induce it to lie down in harness, for a horse has
a high sense of duty.

Mate Billeghi now turned round and saw the priest standing near him.

"Hallo, Janko! Why, how you have grown! How surprised your mother would
be if she were alive! Bother this rope, I did make a firm knot in it!"

The priest took a step toward the cart, where Billeghi was still
struggling with the knot. The words, "if your mother were alive," had
struc