world.[A] Madame Slavkovsky was very much interested in that. When
they later walked to the sheepcotes, all along the way she asked about
Palko's mother, who in her sorrow for the lost boy also lost her
reason till she finally found him and the Lord Jesus returned her son
to her. They did not realize how quickly they came to the huts.

[Footnote A: See the first part of "The Sunshine Country."]

It was a beautiful evening; the sunset covered the sky with its rosy
curtains. The sun sank behind the mountains, and as if in parting
kissed the valleys and the people, and especially seemed to kiss the
beautiful lady who sat by the open fire in deep thought.

"If you can sing so beautifully," begged Palko, "and many people went
to hear you, we also would like you to do so. Sing for us, if you
please."

"Oh, Palko." The lady shook her head. "You wouldn't like my song.
Besides you wouldn't understand me. I sang mostly in English, Italian,
but also in Czech, but the text of these songs would not fit in with
this sacred evening closing around us. But because I would like to
reward you, Palko, for so beautifully relating your experiences, let
me just think a moment."

They waited; and it was so quiet around them that they could almost
hear one another breathe; and in the distance the bells of the flocks
tinkled.

Finally, she lifted her head. "After all, I remember something, and it
is in the Slovak language. Once I learned this song about the sea,
and when I sang it, thousands of people wept. It is a ballad about a
shipwrecked vessel. Would you like to have me sing it?"

"Yes, yes," they all cried. Bacha had just arrived and sat among them.
What a beautiful thing it is when the Creator puts such a voice in the
human throat that no bird or instrument can equal it! You can hear
everything in such a voice: the ringing of gold and silver, the
moaning in the tops of the pines when they move in the wind; the
babbling of the brooks as well as the roar of a great cataract--yes,
everything!

"Master, the tempest is raging!
The billows are tossing high!
The sky is o'ershadowed with blackness,
No shelter or help is nigh;

"Carest Thou not that we perish?
How canst Thou lie asleep,
When each moment so madly is threat'ning
A grave in the angry deep?"

Sweetly, yet mysteriously and sadly, the notes of the song floated on
the evening breeze down to the valley. Once, when the lady tried the
song for the fi