took the lower path after all.

"Truly it was fine to run there, like on carpets, till we came to the swamp. 'You must now jump from rock to rock,' said I, and I ran ahead. We came near the opposite side. There was only one more jump. Because I was larger, and my feet longer I managed to jump over, but I knew that Stephen could not jump over. There were bunches of grass and I advised him to run over them. He listened to me, came over two or three, but the third one began to move under him and he jumped back on the rock.

"'Stay there,' I called to him. 'Not far from here lives the forester; I will run for him and he will help you.' I ran as fast as I could but not to the forester's house.

"'Petrik, do not leave me. I am afraid,' called Stephen after me, and right after that followed a cry:

"'Mother mine!'

"Thus I have heard him day and night, as in the past years, so even till today, and I shall perhaps in the hour of death and in the whole of eternity. I was still a small boy, but a bad one, and at that moment hard as a rock. 'Surely he will fall in and will drown,' I consoled myself. 'Nobody will give him any more apples, and people will love me and me only.' No old criminal could have felt worse than I felt then. I began to run still faster till my legs broke down under me and my breath failed. Yes; I ran through the woods alone, forsaken, as once Cain did when he killed his brother and ran away from the face of God. Suddenly a great pain gripped me that could not be expressed, because the voice that whispered to me before, 'Drown him in that swamp,' now whispered to me, 'You dare not go home. What will you say when they ask you about Stephen?' Tired and hungry as I was I threw myself on the ground and started to cry bitterly till I fell asleep.

"At day-break the drivers passed by with their wagons for lumber. They found me and, recognizing me, laid me sleeping on a wagon and took me as far as our hut. There they awakened me, laid me down, and half-sleeping I didn't realize at once what had happened the day before. I ran to the hall and opened the door.

"The rays of the rising sun struck our bedroom first—the same that day. It lit up the bed of my father, and …" Bacha stopped and tears ran down his cheek.

"And what, Bacha? Oh, what, Bacha?" with bitter cries both boys exclaimed. The tears were already running down Ondrejko's pale face.

"There on the bed in the rays of the sun like a holy picture, rested our Stephen, sleeping. Mother sat beside the bed. There was a humming in my ears and blackness before my eyes, and if father had not jumped and caught me I would have fallen over. It was long before they brought me back to consciousness."

"So he didn't drown?" both boys were astonished and rejoicing.

"Didn't he fall into that swamp?"

"He fell in it, children. Oh, he fell in, and there was no man who could have saved him. But we had a large dog called Whitie who went around always with us, as Fido with you. When we left home we left him behind, but he followed us, and the Lord God Himself sent him in that moment when the stone under Stephen gave way, and he lost his balance and fell. Whitie caught him by the hair and dragged him to the shore, and whined and barked till the forester came.

"He carried Stephen to the brook, washed off the mud, and revived him, for he was almost dead, and then carried him home. I expected father would punish me but he did not. Mother kissed me crying, and gave me breakfast. They were afraid something had happened to me. They thought I had been drowned because I couldn't be found anywhere. I saw clearly that they both loved me very much, but it did not please me, I was afraid it would become known what I had intended to do. My parents are already in eternity, and I can not now ask them for forgiveness because after death there is no more forgiveness.

"Stephen never let it be known that I made him go that way, and from that time on we loved each other as from the beginning. I was no longer jealous of the love of father and mother to him. I knew and felt now that they loved me also, and that I didn't deserve this love.

"From that time I couldn't look at the dog Whitie. It was always painful to me that he, a dog, saved Stephen, when I wanted to drown him. But though he didn't drown that time the Holy God took him to Himself. He must be angry at me, a sinner, to this day. Thus I say, 'Never do any harm to animals; they are much better than people; they are God's creatures; they never do wrong things before God but obey always.' And now, boys, run and go to sleep."

Though the boys had many questions on their hearts they obediently bade him "good night" and went. For a long time, lying on the hay, they spoke together about Stephen, how he jumped over the bunches of grass, how the rock turned under him, how he fell, and how Whitie saved him.

"I am very sorry for Bacha Filina," said Ondrejko. "I can never forget it. It must pain him—could it be that God is still angry with him?"

"But where is this Stephen?" worried Petrik. "They were the same age, so he must be just as old now. Perhaps he will tell us some other time about him." They were stopped from further talking by Fido. Somehow he had managed to get to them and they were rejoiced. They told him once more about the hero Whitie and enjoined upon him to follow him. He wagged his tail, licked their hands and faces, whining for joy as if he were promising it all, and when the boys slept, he slept with one eye open because he had to stand guard over his comrades.

CHAPTER THREE

The following week Bacha Filina had much work to do, so he could not look much after the boys, though they did all they could; they obeyed him and tried to please him in every way. On Tuesday the doctor came to look at Ondrejko. He was told where Ondrejko slept, but he only laughed: "Good for you, boy, that will help you; though your father is a great lord and a proud Magyar, everything serves in its time. Thus I trust we shall live to see that the Tatra Mountains will belong to the Slovaks and also these woods. Because your grandfather lived there as a great Slovak, you also as a good Slovak will be living. Just learn the language of your father and draw near to that soil which they once cultivated." The boys didn't grasp what he meant. They only felt that he was their friend.

The evening came. They had to make a bed for the doctor beside themselves on the hay. In the morning he drank the good milk and ate the black bread with cheese. Then the boys took him as far as the "Old Hag's Rock." On the way Ondrejko asked about his father. He learned that he now lived in Paris and did not purpose to come that year for the summer. The boy breathed more freely because he felt that if his father came he would have to go to him, away from Bacha Filina and away from Petrik. That would not please him; he did not want to go at all. When the doctor took leave of the boys they followed him with their eyes as long as they could see his straw hat, then they climbed the rock to see him better, but in the meantime he had disappeared altogether. Instead of that they saw on the other side of the "Old Hag's Rock" a beautiful little valley, and in it a solitary house with small windows which was made of wood and covered with shingles, standing there by the brook. It looked like a fairy-story house set among the springs coming out from the rocks. The herder Steve had told the boys several times about witches who lived in solitary huts, and it seemed to them that one of them might be living there. A large white dog sunned himself in front of the hut. If Fido had been with them, he surely would have started a fight with him. As the