u behave in your aunt's house? Come here, directly."

Peterke not only would not come out, but retreated under the bed,
looking out from below at dear mamma, and neither threats nor
entreaties could prevail on him to quit his position. Supper was now
announced.

"Just stay where you are," said mamma, "and I shall lock the door till
we return from supper."

The head of the family having entered with his guests, the whole party
proceeded to supper, with the exception of little Peterke, and took
their places round the table, which latter ceremony, however, did not
take place without a good deal of trouble, each person paying
compliments to his neighbour, during which the lady of the house was
obliged to use force to make her guest sit at the head of the table;
while a complete struggle took place at the opposite side between
Uncle Lorincz and Sandor; the former, however, being the stronger of
the two, at last succeeding in placing our nephew beside him.

"You must learn, my dear boy," said Uncle Lorincz, "what the high
sheriff of Bihar taught me while I was his clerk; when I was invited
to my principal's table, and I too pleaded for the lowest place--'Just
sit down where you like,' said the excellent man, 'and rest assured,
wherever that is, it will always be the lowest place.'"

When a blessing had been asked, the savoury gulyas hus[2] was brought
round, the very name of which, even on paper, seems to emit that
delicious flavour which every Hungarian housewife knows so well to
give it.

[Footnote 2: A favourite national dish. It is a stew or hash of beef,
with onions and red pepper, and other spices.]

After the gulyas came the fogas;[3] fortunately the footman carried it
round, otherwise the company would have been obliged to draw lots who
should be helped first. When it came to Sandor's turn, he declined, to
the surprise of every body.

[Footnote 3: A fish said to be peculiar to the Balaton or Platten Lake
in Hungary, and to the Black Sea and the Wolga. It is the _Perca
Lucioperca_.]

"You don't eat fogas?" said Uncle Lorincz, opening his eyes wide.

"Thank you," replied his father for him; "he eats very little in
general."

"Hm! perhaps the boy is particular," thought Uncle Lorincz.--"Well,
there may be something else which he will be able to eat."

Then came a dish of good turos galuska,[4] the crisp pastry smiling
from out of the rich curds and cream, and still hissing on the dish.

[Footnote 4: Ball