it was. My little grandson, Matyko, got ill last year just at
cabbage-cutting time--no, I believe it was earlier in the year ..."

"I don't care when it was, only go on."

Widow Adamecz quietly poured some more of the batter into the
frying-pan.

"Let me see, what was I saying? Ah, yes, I was speaking of Matyko. Well,
it was the result of the staring."

(The peasants think that if a child is much looked at and admired it
pines away.)

Gyuri began impatiently to tap with his foot on the floor.

"Will you tell me where it is?"

"It is there under the table."

"What, the handle?"

"No, the child."

Yes, there was Matyko, sitting on a basin turned upside down, a
fat-faced, blue-eyed Slovak child, playing with some dried beans, its
face still dirty from the pancakes it had eaten.

"Bother you, woman! Are you deaf?" burst out the lawyer. "I asked you
about the handle of the umbrella, not about the child."

Mrs. Adamecz tossed her head.

"Well, that's just what I am talking about. I tell you, they persisted
in admiring Matyko, and the poor little angel was fading away. There is
only one remedy for that; you must take a burning stick, and let three
sparks fall from it into a glass of water, and of this the child must
drink for three days. I did this, but it was of no use; the child went
on suffering and getting thinner from day to day, and my heart nearly
broke at the sight of him; for I have a very soft heart, as his
reverence will tell you ..."

"I don't doubt it for a minute, but for heaven's sake answer my
question."

"I'm coming to it in a minute, sir. Just at that time they were having
the silver handle made to the umbrella, and our young lady, pretty
dear, gave me the old handle. Why, thought I, that will be just the
thing for Matyko; if three sparks from that holy wood are of no use,
then Matyko will be entered in the ranks of God's soldiers."

At the thought of little Matyko as one of God's soldiers her tears began
to flow. It was lucky if none of them fell into the frying-pan.

"Mrs. Adamecz!" exclaimed Gyuri, alarmed, his voice trembling. "You
surely did not burn the handle?"

The old woman looked at him surprised.

"How was I to get the three sparks from it if I did not burn it?"

Gyuri fell back against the wall, the kitchen and everything in it swam
before his eyes, the plates and basins seemed to be dancing a waltz
together; a tongue of fire arose from the fireplace, bringing with it
th