our arrangements
accordingly, but here we were starving and not the remotest prospect of
supper. There was no use wasting unparliamentary language, so I began
foraging in all directions, while H---- busied himself in cutting up
wood to make a fire, a process not too easy with an uncommonly blunt
axe. My researches into the interior of the dwelling were not
encouraging; the fowl was not there, neither was the _paprika_. At
length I discovered some eggs and a chunk of stale bread stowed away in
a corner; there were a great many things in that corner, but "they were
not of my search"--ignorance is bliss.

H---- had done his duty by the fire; he had even persuaded the water to
boil, which I looked upon as the beginning of soup. Happily for us I had
my co-operative stores with me. From the depths of one of my saddle-bags
I drew out a small jar of Liebig's meat--a spoonful or two of this gave
quality to the soup. I added ten eggs and some small squares of bread,
flavouring the whole mess with a pinch of dried herbs, salt, and
pepper--all from "the stores." The result was a capital compound: in
fact I never tasted a better soup of its kind; we enjoyed it immensely.
We had barely finished when in came the woman of the house; she looked
very much surprised, grumbled at our making such a large fire, and made
no apology for her absence.

No one came in to clean and feed our horses, and though I offered a
liberal _trinkgeld_ to any man or boy who would attend to them, not a
soul could I get, they all slunk away. I believe they are afraid of
horses at Dognacska. Self-help was the order of the day, and we just had
to look after the poor brutes ourselves.

We slept in the inn. My bed was made up in the place where I had found
the eggs and bread. I imagine it was the "guest-corner." I do not wish
to be sensational, and I am no entomologist, therefore I will not
narrate my experiences that night; but I thought of the Irishman who
said, "if the fleas had all been of one mind, they could have pulled him
out of bed." Fortunately the summer nights are short; we were up with
the early birds, and started before the heat of the day for Moravicza,
another mining village.

It was a pretty ride. We went for some way alongside a mineral tramway,
which followed the bend of a charming valley. Then we came upon a new
piece of road, made entirely of the whitest marble; it looked almost
like snow. Afterwards our track lay through a dense forest of