all. Could I have a lawsuit, if he would not give it me? What
nonsense! Of course not. He might take the receipt out of the handle,
and what proofs can I bring then that it was ever in it?"

The perspiration stood on his forehead; he bit the bed-clothes in his
helpless rage. To be so near to his inheritance, and yet not be able to
seize hold of it!

"Black night, give counsel!" was Gyuri's prayer. And it is best, after
all, to turn to the night for help. Gyuri was right to ask its advice,
for it is a good friend to thought. Among the Golden Rules should be
written: "Think over all your actions by night, even if you have decided
by day what course to take!" For a man has night thoughts and day
thoughts, though I do not know which are the better. I rather think
neither kind is perfect. For daylight, like a weaver, works its colors
into one's thoughts, and night covers them with its black wings. Both of
them paint, increase and decrease things--in one word, falsify them.
Night shows the beloved one more beautiful than he is, it strengthens
one's enemies, increases one's troubles, diminishes one's joy. It is not
kind of it; but night is sovereign, and is answerable to no one for its
actions. Take things as they come, but do not put aside serious thought
when you are seeking the truth. Though, of course, you do not really
seek the truth; even if it comes to meet you, you get out of its way. I
ought to have said, do not despise the night when you are trying to find
the way out of a thing. Night will show you what to do, without your
even noticing it. If it can do it in no other way, it brings you gentle
sleep, and gives you advice in dreams.

After a time the wind dropped, the music at the "Frozen Sheep" ceased,
and Gyuri heard nothing but a rhythmic murmur, and all at once he seemed
to be in the woods of Glogova, chasing butterflies with Veronica.

As they ran on among the bushes, an old man suddenly appeared before
them, with a golden crook, a glory round his head, and his hat hanging
by a bit of string from his neck.

"Are you Mr. Wibra?" he inquired.

"Yes; and you?"

"I am St. Peter."

"What do you want?"

"I wish to sign a receipt for your happiness."

"For my happiness?"

"I see you cannot get your umbrella, and my friend Gregorics has asked
me to help you. So I am quite willing to sign a paper declaring that I
did not give the umbrella to the young lady."

"It is very good of you, but I have neither pa