ter of inquiry which is duly sent off to the proper authorities at
Budapest. In the course of time--not very promptly--the reply comes. A
letter of condolence, curtly worded: the name of Laczi or Benko or Pal,
as the case may be, was inadvertently omitted from the list of killed
after the skirmish near Banialuka.

Sometimes also the young soldier having received his discharge, does not
care to return to his native village: he has lost his taste for pigs and
geese, for digging and sowing; he has had a glimpse of life and wants to
see some more; the emigration agents at Budapest are active and
persuasive. "America is a land of gold," they say; "no further trouble
but to stoop and pick up the gold just where it lies."

And the lad listens and ponders. He will not go home, for he is afraid
that his mother's tears will deter him from his purpose: he follows the
advice of the emigration agent, expends his last filler, sells his spare
shirt and takes passage at Fiume on a big ship which conveys him to the
land of riches.

Oh! Those lads who go away like that come back sure enough! Broken in
health and spirits, dying of that relentless and mysterious disease
called "homesickness," they drift back after a few years to their
villages, having amassed a little money perhaps, but having lost that
vitality, that love of life and of enjoyment which is the characteristic
of these sons of Hungary--the land of warmth and of sunshine, of
generous wines and luscious corn.

And Eros Bela, walking arm-in-arm with Kapus Elsa on that warm Sunday
afternoon, had talked much of Andor and of his untoward fate.

The two young people had met outside the church after Benediction, they
had strolled down as far as the Maros and back again into the village.

The warm late September sunshine shed a golden glow upon the thatched
roofs of the cottages and made every bright-coloured pot that hung under
the verandahs gleam with many-hued and dazzling reflections. It touched
the red roof of the little church with an additional coat of glittering
crimson and caused the metal cross upon the spire to throw out vivid
sparks of light.

The festive air of a Sunday afternoon hung upon the village street, men
and maids walked by arm-in-arm, the girls in their finery with cotton
petticoats swinging out, and high-heeled boots clinking as they walked,
the men with round felt hats tilted rakishly over one eye, their bronzed
faces suffused in smiles, the song never