ame
out with it, Mistress Borcsa was already wheeling her vehicle far away
on the other side of the street, and it would not have been fitting for
a gentleman to scamper after her before the eyes of the whole village,
and to commence a combat of doubtful issue in the middle of the street
with the irritated Amazon.

The nearest village was not far from Lankadomb; yet before she reached
it, Mistress Borcsa's soul was brimming over with wrath.

Every man would consider it beneath his dignity to submit tamely to such
a dishonor.

As she reached the village of her birth, she made straight for the
courtyard of her former husband's house.

Old Kolya recognized his wife as she came up trundling the squeaking
barrow, and wondering thrust his head out at the kitchen door.

"Is that you, Boris?"

"It is: you might see, if you had eyes."

"You've come back?"

Instead of replying Mistress Boris bawled to her husband.

"Take one end of this trunk and help me to drag it in. Take hold now. Do
you think I came here to admire your finely curled moustache?"

"Well, why else did you come, Boris?" said the old man very
phlegmatically, without so much as taking his hand from behind his back.

"You want to quarrel with me again, I see; well, let's be over with it
quickly: take a stick and beat me, then let us talk sense."

At this Kolya took pity on his wife and helped her to drag the trunk in.

"I am no longer such a quarreller, Boris," he answered. "Ever since I
became a man with a responsible position I have never annoyed anyone. I
am a watchman."

"So much the better: if you are an official, I can at any rate tell you
what trouble brought me here."

"So it was only trouble drove you here?"

"Certainly. They robbed and stole from me. They have taken away my
yellow-flowered calico kerchief, a red 'Home-sweet-Home' handkerchief,
which I had intended for you, a silver-crossed string of beads, twelve
dollars, ten gold pieces, twenty-two silver buttons, four pairs of
silver buckles, and a scolloped-eared, pi-bald, eight-week-old pig...."

"Whew!" exclaimed Kolya as he heard of so much loss. "This is a pretty
business. Well, who stole them?"

"No one else than the cursed gypsy woman Marcsa, who lives here in this
village."

"We shall call her to account as soon as she appears."

"Naturally. She went there while I was weeding in the garden; she
prowled about and stole."

"Well I'll soon have her by the ears, only let he