-X 
 
TALES OF SERBIAN LIFE 
 
KK. 
 
 The Slava Cake 
 
 NOEL L. NISHET 
 
TALES OF 
 
 SERBIAN LIFE 
 
 BY 
 
 E. CHIVERS DA VIES 
 
 AUTHOR OF 
 "A FAKMER IN SERBIA" AND "A LITTLE SERBIAN PHRASE BOOK" 
 
 WITH ILLUSTRATIONS BY 
 
 GILBERT JAMES WILLIAM SEWELL 
 
 AND 
 
 NOEL L. NISBET 
 
 NEW YORK 
 
 DODD, MEAD AND COMPANY 
 
TO 
 
 JOAN AND NANCY 
 
 THE RIVERSIDE PRESS LIMITED, EDINBURGH 
 GREAT BRITAIN 
 
CONTENTS 
 
 THE LITTLE HOUSE AT NOVO SELO 
 
 PAOB 
 
 I. THE MAIKA AND HER CHILDREN n 
 
 II. A VISIT TO BANJA 36 
 
 III. CHRISTMAS AT Novo SELO 71 
 
 THE VILLA GOLUB 
 
 I. ANDRIJA LAZARAVITCH 107 
 
 II. THE SLAVA 134 
 
 III. THE SEEKING 157 
 
 STEFAN THE COWHERD 
 
 I. A BETROTHAL 195 
 
 II. STEFAN'S ADVENTURE 209 
 
 III. STEFAN'S RETURN 230 
 
 530 !H) ' 
 
ILLUSTRATIONS 
 
 PAGE 
 
 THE SLAVA CAKE (Noel L. Nisbef] Frontispiece 
 
 MARKO AND THE FAIRY ( William Sewell] 32 
 
 "HERE is THE SWORD AND THERE THE ANVIL" 
 
 ( William Sewell) 66 
 
 "WHAT is THE CAUSE THAT THOU, STILL so YOUNG, 
 
 HAST LOST THY HAPPINESS ? " ( William Sewell) 76 
 
 CHRISTMAS IN A SERBIAN HOME (Gilbert James} 96 
 
 HE WILL SHAKE A TREE THREE TIMES (Gilbert Jamt 's) 202 
 
 STEFAN WATCHED THE HORSE AND ITS RIDER TILL 
 
 THEY WERE BOTH OUT OF SIGHT ( William Sewell) 216 
 
 THE COLD WINDS BLEW DOWN FROM THE MOUNTAINS 
 
 ( William Sewell] 232 
 
THE LITTLE HOUSE AT 
 NOVO SELO 
 
CHAPTER I : THE MAIKA AND 
 HER CHILDREN 
 
 IT was going to be a hot day. Marko knew that 
 as he headed his procession of pigs away from 
 the maize-field and up over the heath, though 
 the mountains were still covered with mist and the 
 ground wet with the dew of the night. He was 
 yawning a little as he picked his way among the 
 briers, for he had been up before four o'clock pump- 
 ing water for his mother, Dobrilla Yankovitch. 
 Since the typhus had taken his father from the 
 cottage he was now the man of the house, and 
 there were many tasks for Marko's willing hands 
 to do. 
 
 To-day he was swineherd, and that he liked perhaps 
 best of all. For one thing, it was fine to be free 
 to wander all through the summer day; and up in 
 the forests, even when the midday sun beat fiercely 
 on the hill-side, there were cool and shady places 
 to be found. 
 
 Working on the maize-field or in their little vine- 
 yard was no joke in the hot days of a Serbian 
 summer, and Marko thought very contentedly of the 
 day that was before him ; for the pigs were little 
 trouble, and if he felt lazy, as he did sometimes, 
 he could always go to sleep in some leafy, shady 
 spot, sure that his lean and active charges would not 
 stray far from his side. 
 
 For an hour or so he went slowly on, the pigs 
 trotting ahead of him, sometimes tangling them- 
 selves in the briers or coming to grief in the prickly 
 
 ii 
 
TALES OF SERBIAN LIFE 
 
 thorn bushes with much excited grunting and 
 squealing. Then Marko would rap a few of the 
 noisiest ones across their brown curly backs and the 
 family would start on its way again. Soon the forest 
 path began, and up, up, up went pigs and boy, till 
 the blue water of the Morava, twisting like a snake 
 between the folds of mountain, showed only as a 
 shining ribbon from the heights above. It was 
 hard climbing, and from time to time Marko would 
 stop, leaning on his thick stick, and look down at 
 the valley below or over at the opposite mountains. 
 Only their tips were bare of timber ; all the lower 
 slopes were thickly covered with beech and oak 
 trees. Here and there a few whitewashed cottages 
 showed, their heavy thatched roofs sitting squatly 
 on top of them, but they were so far away that even 
 Marko's keen eyes, trained to long distances, could 
 barely see the figures of people working in the fields 
 around them. His eyes could detect little groups 
 of cattle or goats on the hills near him, watched by 
 children like himself, but they too were just little 
 specks in the distance. 
 
 Now the pigs trotted on at a tremendous pace, for 
 they knew that they were in the forest and around 
 them great stores of acorns. And since there was 
 not overmuch food for them in the house of Dobrilla 
 Yankovitch, small wonder that young hungry pigs 
 rejoiced in such a feast ! 
 
 " O pigs ! " called Marko, " come back and do 
 not hurry so. There is all day before you, greedy 
 ones, and I am hot." 
 
 But the pigs went on and Marko had to follow. 
 12 
 
THE HOUSE AT NOVO SELO 
 
 To add to his discomfort, the plaited thong of one 
 of his leather sandal shoes broke right across and 
 his opanka slipped continually. " Plague be on the 
 thing ! " he growled crossly. " Now I must mend 
 you, and that is a long night's work, since there is 
 no money for new ones. Still, if the pigs bring good 
 prices perhaps the Maika will remember that I have 
 been a good son to her/' 
 
 And he laughed a little at that, for really he was 
 not a vain boy and also his foot did look funny 
 slipping about inside the loose opanka, which in any 
 case was too big for him, as well it might be, since 
 he was wearing a pair of his father's. 
 
 So he took them off and slung them over his 
 shoulder with his leather wallet in which Dobrilla 
 had put his midday meal and trotted along far more 
 happily on his bare brown feet. But Bozhe ! l the sun 
 was hot even though it was September, and Marko 
 pulled the black felt hat farther down over his eyes 
 so that only the tip of his nose and his red lips were 
 visible. Still, when the youngest of the last litter of 
 pigs slid on a slippery patch of moss and sat down 
 firmly on his little curly tail, then you might have 
 seen Marko's white teeth flash out in the smile that 
 always made his mother say to herself : " It is now 
 that I see my man Marko looking from his son's face." 
 
 Often, very often, Dobrilla Maika would say to her 
 children : "I have four good children and all are 
 very dear to me, but it is for Marko to remember 
 that he is like his father who is now with the saints 
 in heaven. And he must be strong and brave like 
 
 1 Boske f may be freely translated " Heavens ! " Literally, " Oh, God ! " 
 
 13 
 
TALES OF SERBIAN LIFE 
 
 the great Marko Kraljevitch, Marko the King's 
 son, whose name he bears and whose story he 
 knows." 
 
 And then the boy always felt very proud, for 
 Marko Kraljevitch was a very famous person indeed, 
 and you shall hear his story too one evening when 
 we are sitting round the hearth with Maika Yanko- 
 vitch and her children. 
 
 Meantime Marko and his pigs were equally happy 
 in the forest, the pigs grunting and rooting about 
 for acorns and the boy lying on his back, a straight 
 little figure in white linen tunic and trousers, his 
 big felt hat pushed over his eyes. He was staring 
 at the white clouds that came and went across the 
 blue sky, sniffing the different wood scents, the cistus 
 and thyme of the hill-side, and admiring the lovely 
 reds and yellows of the turning leaves, gay with their 
 autumn tints. 
 
 For Marko, like all Serbian children, and grown- 
 ups too, loved beautiful colours and sounds, although 
 he didn't talk much about them to anyone. So he 
 lay on his back and thought how quiet it was, and 
 wondered how the tree-felling on the opposite moun- 
 tain was going along, and listened for the sound 
 of the axe. And he thought of the apple crop in 
 their little orchard over at Novo Selo, and wondered 
 when they would begin to cut the maize, and if the 
 pumpkins were really ripe, and what prices the pigs 
 would fetch if he took them to Banja. 
 
 He thought a good deal about those pigs. For 
 one thing, he could not make up his mind whether 
 the old brown sow's litter was better than the one 
 14 
 
THE HOUSE AT NOVO SELO 
 
 belonging to the crop-eared mother. And would 
 they be able to keep one, just one, for their Christmas 
 dinner ? for at Christmas even the poorest Serb eats 
 pig if he can scrape up the money to buy it. Also 
 how many would they need to keep for the winter's 
 supply of dried meat ? In the days when Marko's 
 father was alive they were not so poor, for there was 
 a man's strength to till the maize-field and fell the 
 timber and plant the vines. Of course they had 
 never been rich, not rich like the Ilitchs, who had 
 so many maize-fields and vineyards, oxen, and 
 even horses, that Marko thought of them as being 
 able to buy anything in the world they wanted 
 even things out of the wonderful shops in Banja 
 and that was as far as Marko's knowledge of shops 
 went. 
 
 But they were not poor in those days, not as they 
 were now, when everything seemed hard, and Marko 
 longed impatiently for the time when he should be 
 as strong as his big, quiet father, who could carry 
 great logs as if they had been feathers and work 
 tirelessly all day in the fields. 
 
 Oh, indeed Marko was full of plans for the day 
 when he should be a man, and remembering hopefully 
 that he had beaten big Branislav in a wrestling 
 match only the other day, he thought that that time 
 could not be very far away. 
 
 From the great heights of his twelve years he 
 scarcely considered the other children, though indeed 
 Ivanka was very helpful to the dear Maika and fat 
 six-year-old Drago was quite a useful person too. 
 Of course Chedda did not count, for he was hardly 
 
 15 
 
TALES OF SERBIAN LIFE 
 
 more than a baby, just able to crawl about and suck 
 his fat thumbs. 
 
 Therefore it was perhaps no great wonder that 
 Marko did feel himself to be the man of the house, 
 and that was why he thought so hard as he lay on 
 his back staring up at the sky. But of course it 
 isn't very easy for a healthy boy who has been up 
 since daybreak, and who is lying on a very cosy 
 bed of soft moss, to keep on thinking all day 
 particularly when he has eaten a big slab of 
 maize bread and some goat's cheese and a handful 
 of apples ! 
 
 So it happened that presently Marko J s eyes closed, 
 and by and by they stayed shut and he slept soundly 
 for quite a long time. He did not know that the 
 sun was beginning to alter the purple shadows on the 
 mountain-side, that the pigs had strayed quite out 
 of sight, and that a wandering dog was snuffing at 
 his wallet indeed, he might have slept till evening 
 if some one had not shaken him lightly by the 
 shoulder and called, " Marko ! wake up, wake up, 
 lazy one ! " in his ear. 
 
 He sat up with a little grunt ; then, " Oh, so it is 
 you, Ivanka," he said, looking sleepily at his sister. 
 " How did you come here, and why am I so hungry ? " 
 Then, seeing the dog, " And you would try to rob 
 me, would you ? " and he pushed it away from his 
 wallet, where was still a precious lump of bread. 
 
 ' Yes, little brother ; and I am come because Maika 
 wants you to hurry home. My father's brother is in 
 from Vrntse, and my cousin too, and they will help 
 to cut the maize perhaps to-night, if you will help. 
 16 
 
THE HOUSE AT NOVO SELO 
 
 And there is trouble too, for the white cow has strayed 
 and we cannot find her." 
 
 Ivanka had a pretty voice and she lisped a little, 
 so that people said her speech was like the twittering 
 of birds in the trees ; but Marko was not listening 
 to that, he was thinking of the white cow which had 
 strayed, and remembering that -while he had been 
 planning all the great things he was to do when he 
 was a man he had in the meantime forgotten all 
 about the pigs and they had strayed too ! 
 
 " Come quickly, Ivanka," he said ; "we must 
 find the pigs before we go home ; and I am hungry 
 too there is a great basin, it seems, inside me, 
 and little time to fill it. But the pigs I must find 
 quickly." 
 
 And he started round the bend of the hill, Ivanka 
 trotting after him. She was just a little copy of her 
 tall mother, with her tight cotton bodice and full 
 pleated woollen skirt reaching to her bare brown 
 ankles and bunched round her childish waist, and 
 a gay yellow handkerchief tied over her braided 
 hair. 
 
 Like all Serbian girls, of course she had her fine 
 festival dress, but only the bright handkerchief and 
 the blue beads round her neck gave colour to the 
 sober workaday clothes of little Ivanka. In her 
 hand she carried the purple stocking at which her 
 fingers were so busy ; for already Ivanka could knit 
 nearly as quickly as her mother, though as yet it 
 was left for the Maika's fingers to embroider the top 
 of the stocking in brilliant wool, with red roses and 
 yellow trees in cross-stitch and darning. 
 
 B 17 
 
TALES OF SERBIAN LIFE 
 
 Happily for Marko's peace of mind the pigs had 
 not gone far, and they were soon discovered rooting 
 among the oaks just a little distance away. Then 
 the two set off on their homeward journey, Ivanka 
 knitting busily as she walked and Marko trilling out 
 snatches of song like a young lark. 
 
 Soon they passed the familiar landmarks and came 
 quickly down the slope of the hill below which lay 
 the cottage of Dobrilla Yankovitch and her four 
 children. Down past the crumbling vine-terraces, 
 for alas ! since big Marko had left them there had 
 been too much work for his widow's hands for the 
 vines to receive all the care they needed in such a 
 brier- entangled country as this so unlike the fruit- 
 ful slopes of the Danube lands which Dobrilla herself 
 remembered as her childhood's home. But the 
 orchard before the whitewashed cottage, with its 
 heavy thatch roof, was full of good trees, and the 
 apples weighed the branches down and cried out to 
 be picked and stored. Maika was standing at the 
 door shading her eyes with her hand against the sun, 
 Chedda in her arms and Drago tugging at her skirt, 
 while old Matchka, the house cat, played with her 
 two kittens, Mitsu and Mitsi, at her feet. 
 
 Dobrilla smiled down at her children and patted the 
 yellow handkerchief as Ivanka nestled to her side, and 
 answered the little daughter's first question : 
 
 ' Yes, my Ivanka, the white cow is found ; she 
 had been driven off by that dog of Vassila Petrovitch's, 
 who is an evil dog and should be beaten. And here 
 is Marko, my big son," she said, as he came round 
 from the other side of the house, after putting his pigs 
 18 
 
THE HOUSE AT NOVO SELO 
 
 into the rough shelter, thatch-covered, which served 
 them for sty. " To-day the father's brother is here, 
 and he and thy cousin Petar will sleep with us to- 
 night ; then to-morrow we shall cut the kukurus 
 all, Maika and the big uncle, Marko and Petar, even 
 Drago shall go. But Ivanka will stay with Chedda, 
 will she not, to care for the small one ? Or shall 
 Chedda go too, to ride on the kola and fill it with 
 pumpkins ? Eh, my fat son ? " as she tossed the 
 baby up. 
 
 " Chedda shall go too or I will not ! " cried 
 Drago. " All shall go, and I will have my sickle 
 the sharpest of all, and Ivanka shall carry the 
 pumpkins and put them on the kola. All must go, 
 for there is much work and need for all women 
 as well as men." 
 
 " And thou a man ! " laughed his tall mother. " And 
 I who work as two men since the father is gone." 
 Turning away, she went into the house to prepare 
 the evening meal, but first she gave Chedda into 
 the care of Ivanka, his second Maika. Her careful 
 little arms had held him since he was a tiny baby, 
 and he laughed and chattered baby talk to her now 
 till the big uncle, Ivan Yankovitch, and his son Petar 
 came up from the inspection of the field they were 
 to cut. 
 
 Petar shouted a gay greeting to his cousins, and 
 Ivan Yankovitch took Marko by the shoulders and 
 turned him round to the light. The Maika came out 
 of the house as she heard her brother-in-law coming, 
 and it was to her that he spoke rather than to the 
 children. 
 
 19 
 
TALES OF SERBIAN LIFE 
 
 " A fine young ox enough, and he grows apace/' 
 he said, measuring the boy's strength with his keen 
 eyes. " He has the face of his father, Dobrilla 
 Yankovitch, more than the others, though that one," 
 pointing to Drago, who scrambled to his feet and 
 stood at his full height, " will make a good soldier 
 and a big man if he does not eat too much ratluk." 
 This evoked screams of joy from Drago, who knew 
 that such a speech most probably meant that in his 
 uncle's pocket there would be a box of that delicious 
 sweetmeat, which though you and I call it Turkish 
 delight is just as nice for Serbian children under the 
 name of ratluk. 
 
 Uncle Ivan only patted Ivanka kindly on the head 
 and said she was growing a big girl, but he tossed 
 baby Chedda up in his arms, saying : " And thou, 
 mali one, shalt do whatever it please thee with thy 
 old uncle, who has no lesser one in his house than 
 that great fellow there/' By whom, of course, he 
 meant Petar, who stood grinning in the background. 
 Soon Petar dragged Marko off to give the horses 
 their supper, for he had ridden over with his father 
 from their own village early that morning. It was 
 many kilometres from the little village of Novo Selo, 
 where Marko's mother lived, to Retka, where Ivan 
 Yankovitch had his home. Marko's uncle was a 
 rich man with a big flour-mill, besides his house and 
 many maize-fields and vineyards, so that he was well 
 able to keep horses to ride. Of course, like every 
 Serb boy, Marko dearly loved horses and could ride 
 anything that was ever foaled, but he did not very 
 often get a chance nowadays. So he went off with 
 
 20 
 
THE HOUSE AT NOVO SELO 
 
 great alacrity to see the two who were now guests 
 of theirs for the night. 
 
 In the meantime Uncle Ivan was smoking his 
 endless cigarettes on the little bench outside the 
 house, and Dobrilla Maika was busy with the supper, 
 happy with his praise of her children. 
 
 Of course Ivan Yankovitch, though he was very 
 fond of his brother's children, secretly thought that 
 no one in the world could compare with his own tall 
 Petar, his daughter Draga, whom all the young men 
 in her village were wishful to seek in marriage, and 
 his eldest son Andreas, who was now a corporal in 
 the army. But he did not say all this, only thought 
 it quietly in his own mind. 
 
 It was a good thing they all remained outside while 
 the Maika was so busy bustling about inside, for 
 really there was not very much room in the house. 
 Like all the other houses of Novo Selo, there was no 
 ' upstairs ' ; only a big space between the rafters 
 and the peaked thatch roof served as a kind of attic 
 store-room where Dobrilla kept most of her treasures 
 and her winter stores of food. There were two big 
 nails driven into one of the wall-posts, so that an 
 agile person could easily climb up, displace a loose 
 board, and get right into the roof if he wished. 
 Here lay piles of maize cobs, for there was not much 
 space for storing ground flour, and in Serbian peasant 
 houses there is always a stone hand-mill to grind up 
 the maize as it is needed. Here too were potatoes, 
 pumpkins and melons, strings of onions and leeks; 
 and a precious little store of sugar and coffee, salt and 
 suchlike practically the only things in the way of 
 
 21 
 
TALES OF SERBIAN LIFE 
 
 food which Dobrilla Yankovitch had to buy, for 
 everything else they grew or reared themselves on 
 their own bits of land. 
 
 Up in the roof too were kept the spare cups and 
 saucers, forks and spoons and knives ; and to-day 
 Dobrilla. was in a great bustle of preparation, that 
 nothing might be lacking to do honour to her 
 husband's brother and his son. 
 
 There was not very much furniture in the room, 
 and most of it had been made by her husband's 
 hands the heavy table, the chairs, the coffer in 
 which the festival clothes were kept ; and in one 
 corner was the great bed carved and decorated in 
 which she and the younger children slept. Now 
 she hastily threw the finest coverlet over the 
 blankets and brought out her embroidered linen 
 pillows. In the second room there stood another 
 bed, a stool or two, and the big hand-loom at which 
 Dobrilla Yankovitch wove the flax and wool into 
 clothes for herself and her children. The floor of 
 both the rooms was of beaten earth, and the only 
 carpet hung in what you or I would think rather a 
 strange place that is, on the whitewashed wall. 
 But a bright-coloured rug is regarded by all the 
 people in the countries we call the Balkan States 
 as something far too nice to be trodden underfoot, 
 so they take care to hang it up where every one can 
 admire it. Really it is a good idea, and makes the 
 rooms look very pretty. Rich people have many 
 of these carpets, some of which are very beautiful. 
 Maika had only one, but she put it in a good place, 
 and it gave a very nice party-like look to her room. 
 22 
 
THE HOUSE AT NOVO SELO 
 
 Near the door stood the big stove, on the top of 
 which various copper pots gave out a delicious steamy 
 odour, which made Drago wrinkle up his nose like 
 a hungry little puppy. 
 
 There was a big oven, of course, in which the flat 
 cakes of kukurus were baked into that solid, satisfying 
 mass which will take the edge off even the wolf- 
 hunger of little Serbian boys and girls who are busy 
 all the time. The walls looked gay with long strings 
 of bright red peppercorns hanging up to dry; and 
 here and there long hanks of flax and hemp, ready 
 dyed, or waiting to be dyed and spun when Dobrilla 
 Yankovitch should find a moment's leisure for her 
 busy hands. 
 
 In one corner was her distaff, leaning against 
 Chedda's big cradle, which stood beneath the bracket 
 on which burned a tiny lamp before the picture of 
 the patron saint of the family. 
 
 There were a few cactus plants in flower, for Maika 
 dearly loved growing blossoms in her little house. 
 She was a native of the North it was a rare thing 
 for a man like Marko the Silent to marry so far away 
 from his own district, but they were kindred on the 
 mother's side and used as she was to the more 
 luxuriant growth of vine and flower which one finds 
 in the Danube lands, she had often in the early days 
 of her married life found the mountains and the 
 great forests dark and cold and missed the bright 
 clothes and gayer flowers of her own village. 
 
 That perhaps was why she knitted all their stock- 
 ings in the most vivid colours her dyes could make 
 the sheep's wool take, and why she loved to see the 
 
 23 
 
TALES OF SERBIAN LIFE 
 
 little Drago pluck a sunflower from the patch which 
 grew beside the well and stick it behind his ear in 
 imitation of his big brother. Indeed, her thoughts 
 were busy over these things as she made the supper 
 and oh, how good it smelt as she poured the soup 
 into the earthenware platters ! 
 
 "Come, children/' she called, "come quickly; 
 and thou, Ivan Yankovitch, come and eat now, for 
 it is late/' And in they ran like homing bees. 
 
 Maika gazed anxiously at Uncle Ivan's face as he 
 tasted her good soup with its thickening of beans 
 and onions, for she was aware that in his own home 
 there was always wonderful cooking ; but he smacked 
 his lips appreciatively over the stew and she knew 
 that her guest was pleased with his supper. 
 
 There was good pork following, for to-night's 
 supper was to be a great one, and there were beans 
 seasoned well with garlic, and great slabs of goat's 
 cheese to eat with the bread of kukurus a supper fit 
 for a king, as Marko thought, as he sat on his little 
 square stool by his mother's side. 
 
 There was some of the last year's vintage to drink ; 
 but Uncle Ivan liked better the fiery rakija, which 
 Marco never tasted without making a wry face and 
 wondering that grown men liked it so much. Petar 
 got his down well enough, but then he was sixteen 
 and big for his age. 
 
 When the meal was over Chedda and Drago were 
 put into the big bed and covered over with the coarse 
 brown blankets, but Ivanka pulled her little stool 
 to her mother's knee by the open door in the cool 
 dusk, while Uncle Ivan took his place again on the 
 24 
 
THE HOUSE AT NOVO SELO 
 
 bench beneath the window and smoked his eternal 
 cigarettes. Marko pulled down a strip of hide 
 from the little store hanging from a nail behind the 
 door and began whittling at it to make it the right 
 width for his opanka strap. Petar alone was idle ; 
 but presently, as he sat lazily teasing the cat, he 
 began to hum softly, and soon his beautiful voice 
 rose up in the quiet air and for a long hour he sang 
 the songs he knew. Very many songs he sang, some 
 of them gay and rollicking, the music the soldiers 
 sing as they march, some of them laughing little 
 songs which sounded like the birds in the trees or 
 the rivers running over the big stones. But most of 
 them were rather quiet songs, which did not make 
 very much noise, but which made you think, if 
 you listened to them, of beautiful starry nights, of 
 mothers singing their babies to sleep, of the wind in 
 the trees, and of people you loved very much being 
 near to you, so that if you were lonely you could 
 touch their hand in the darkness. 
 
 And some were so beautiful that they gave you a 
 kind of aching lump in your throat, and yet you 
 wanted them to go on and on and never stop. 
 
 Uncle Ivan sat on his bench in the growing 
 darkness, and you could just have seen his head 
 nodding in time to the measures of the song when 
 the tiny glow-worm of his cigarette lit up the darkness. 
 Ivanka pressed close to her mother's side, and Marko 
 sat with his arms clasped round his knees, forgetting 
 everything as Serbs do forget when they hear beauti- 
 ful music or listen to the wonderful poems of their 
 own history. 
 
 25 
 
TALES OF SERBIAN LIFE 
 
 Marko could not read, but he never forgot anything 
 he heard repeated more than once, and his small 
 head was stuffed with endless stories and legends 
 of his own country, which he could tell by the hour 
 together. 
 
 Petar sang till he could sing no more, then he got 
 up and yawned frankly. 
 
 " Bozhet but I am tired/' he said. "Will my 
 father permit that I go to my bed? " And indeed 
 they were all very willing, for now that the magical 
 voice was quiet every one felt suddenly how tired 
 they were too, and it does not do to sit up too late 
 when you must rise before the sun ! 
 
 Although Maika Yankovitch was so tall she could 
 move very quietly, and next morning she pumped 
 water for the morning coffee, lit the stove, and 
 prepared the bowls of hot milk without waking the 
 guests in the inner room. Marko shared the other 
 big bed with his uncle and cousin, so his mother did 
 not wake him to help her, as she usually did. 
 
 All the same he soon came running in with a gay 
 " Dobro jiitro," which means ' Good-morning/ to 
 his mother, and he amused Chedda till they were 
 ready for the start. Maika brought out the two big 
 patient oxen, and Petar and Marko were there to 
 help her as she backed the big creatures into their 
 places, adjusted the yoke, and pushed home the 
 wooden pin which held the yoke in position. There 
 was plenty of room in the kola for the children, and 
 Ivanka saw that there was a supply of fresh cold 
 water and a skin of wine to take for the thirsty 
 hours of the day. 
 26 
 
THE HOUSE AT NOVO SELO 
 
 Maika walked beside the creaking kola with her 
 goad to hasten the slow steps of the oxen though 
 little short of an earthquake could make them hurry. 
 Still, they covered the ground at an even, steady pace, 
 which ate up the miles more readily than you would 
 believe, and it was no great distance to the field 
 where the maize had to be cut. In the kola the 
 children laughed and chattered like little magpies, 
 and Dobrilla Yankovitch's face was happy under 
 the black handkerchief which every Serbian peasant 
 widow wears on her head instead of the gay-coloured 
 ones that are so much prettier. She was happy in 
 her children's happiness, and that is the way most 
 Serbian women find their life's enjoyment. 
 
 The maize-field was not a very large one, but the 
 crop was good and there was plenty of work before 
 them, even though quite a number of neighbours, 
 following out a good old Serbian custom, had come 
 to help to gather in the harvest of a woman who had 
 no husband to help her. 
 
 Every one liked Dobrilla Yankovitch, moreover, 
 even though in a sense she was a stranger, because 
 she had not been born in the village or neighbouring 
 district, but had come from another part of Serbia 
 to make her married life among them. 
 
 Many of the older people had never been more 
 than ten miles from their own house, and though the 
 younger men had journeyed farther, their wives and 
 daughters seldom went beyond Banja, the tiny town 
 where they took their fruit and eggs to sell to the 
 visitors who came in the summer months to take its 
 baths or drink the queer-tasting waters which bubbled 
 
 27 
 
TALES OF SERBIAN LIFE 
 
 up from the ground. But still, even if they did not 
 go far from their homes, they had a great deal to 
 talk about, and they talked even when they were 
 working, and made little jokes about each other, 
 all very good-tempered and laughing. 
 
 The oxen browsed under the trees and the babies 
 played in the shade of the tilted carts, while their 
 brothers and fathers bent with a will over their work. 
 How the September sun beat down on them ! and 
 how thankful they all were for the long cool draughts 
 of sour wine which the older children carried round 
 to them from time to time ! 
 
 In among the tall maize stalks the golden pumpkins 
 had ripened during the summer, and there was soon 
 a goodly heap ready to pile on the kola at the end of 
 the day. 
 
 For an hour or two when the sun was at its hottest 
 every one came to rest in the shade of the trees and 
 eat their frugal meal of bread and goat's cheese or 
 salt pork, washed down by some of the thin red wine 
 which each family made from its own vines. 
 
 Then they were hard at work again till evening, 
 when the neighbours said ' Good-bye ' to grateful 
 Dobrilla Yankovitch, promising to help her again 
 the next day till they should have cut all the maize 
 and carried it for her, and she with her children 
 prepared to go home. Uncle Ivan and Petar could 
 not go back with them, for they were obliged to 
 return to Retka to see to their own harvesting ; and 
 moreover there was the big mill, which could not be 
 left long to take care of itself. 
 
 When the time for their return arrived the oxen 
 28 
 
THE HOUSE AT NOVO SELO 
 
 were yoked again, and this time Maika sat on the 
 piled-up kola, full of the golden fruits, with Chedda 
 on her knee a very cross, sleepy Chedda by this 
 time. Ivanka held Drago safely from tumbling out 
 at the back, and Marko guided the bullocks, singing 
 as he went a long, long song all about his hero Marko 
 Kraljevitch and his magic horse Sharats. 
 
 Soon they were home, and Maika carried the 
 sleepy Chedda to his bed and made the supper for 
 the others, while Marko stabled the bullocks. 
 
 ' That was a fine field/' he said to his mother after 
 supper, " and there will be as much more to cut 
 to-morrow. Shall we after that gather the apples, 
 my mother ? or must I first get wood enough for 
 the winter ? ' 
 
 Maika sighed a little, for truly there was so much 
 work before her that she scarcely knew on which 
 part of it to begin. 
 
 Even when there was no work in the fields there 
 were the sheep and goats, the oxen and milk-cows 
 to be cared for, the hens to be fed, and the vegetable 
 ground to be looked after, to say nothing of work 
 in the house. Dobrilla Yankovitch made the dyes 
 with which she tinted the shorn fleece of her sheep 
 and the hemp and flax which she wove into household 
 necessities and clothing for the family. She baked 
 the bread and pressed the grapes, made the cheeses 
 and salted the pork, cooked the meals and washed 
 the clothes in the stream, pounding them with big 
 stones till they were clean and rinsing them in the 
 running water. 
 
 Every garment the family wore was made by clever 
 
 29 
 
TALES OF SERBIAN LIFE 
 
 Maika ; and, dear, dear, what dreadful children they 
 were for tearing their clothes and wearing them out ! 
 But, as the old Serb peasants say, " Who does not 
 mend old clothes will never wear new ones," and 
 there was always plenty of that to do when Maika 
 was not busy elsewhere ! So she smiled at Marko 
 as he clamoured for more work to settle and said : 
 
 " Do you not think it would be wise to make an 
 end of the harvesting with the help of our good neigh- 
 bours before planning out another year's labour ? 
 For," she added, " my maika used to tell me when 
 I was a little child that it was better not to begin 
 than not to finish." 
 
 And with that Marko had to be content, so he 
 set to work again on his leather shoe-strap, and 
 the Maika, seeing Ivanka's little fingers busy at her 
 knitting by the door, brought out her chair and sat 
 down between them. 
 
 ' Tell Drago a story," suddenly came from the 
 baby boy, who, tired of playing with his favourite 
 kitten, had crawled on all fours to his mother's feet 
 and busied himself with tangling the flax she was 
 combing. " Tell Drago the story of the fairy who 
 pierced the throat of Milosh with her golden arrow." 
 
 " Oh, Drago, that is a stupid story ! " cried Marko. 
 " I like better the one where Marko Kraljevitch 
 fights the great Moossa. Tell us that one again, 
 Maika." 
 
 " No, no," said Ivanka; " tell the tale of the Maid 
 of Kossovo. That is a pretty story ; much prettier 
 than thine, Marko." 
 
 ' Which shall it be ? " said Dobrilla Yankovitch. 
 30 
 
THE HOUSE AT NOVO SELO 
 
 " Shall it not be that the littlest one shall have his 
 story to-night, for truly he has been a brave boy all 
 the day, and with his own fat arms has he carried 
 great pumpkins to the kola bigger than his own head ! " 
 
 " Good/' the others agreed. " It shall be as Maika 
 says, and to-night Drago shall have his story/' 
 
 " But all the same it shall be Moossa to-morrow/' 
 Marko said under his breath. 
 
 " And I say ' The Maid/ This in a very low 
 voice from Ivanka, but Maika pretended not to hear. 
 Sometimes it is best when mothers do not seem to 
 hear quite everything their children say. 
 
 So, picking up Drago and putting him in such a 
 place that he could not do further mischief among 
 her flax, the Maika began. The children had heard 
 the story of Prince Marko and the Fairy many times 
 before, but they loved it just the same, or even 
 better, for that. 
 
 THE STORY OF PRINCE MARKO AND 
 THE FAIRY 
 
 Once Kraljevitch Marko was riding through the 
 mountains with his adopted brother Milosh. Marko 
 had his beautiful piebald horse Sharats, and the 
 horse of Milosh trotted in step with Sharats, and 
 Marko and Milosh were both carrying their lances in 
 their hands. Suddenly Marko felt sleepy and began 
 to nod over his horse's neck, but rousing himself 
 he said to Milosh : " O my brother Milosh, a heavi- 
 ness of sleep is coming over me. Canst thou sing 
 me something so that I may keep awake ? " 
 
TALES OF SERBIAN LIFE 
 
 Milosh answered his brother, saying : " O my 
 brother Kraljevitch Marko, how gladly would I sing 
 to thee, but I drank a cup of wine in the mountain 
 from the hands of the Fairy of the Mountain, and she 
 threatened me that if ever she heard me singing 
 she would pierce my heart and my throat with an 
 arrow." 
 
 But Marko again pressed him : " Sing, my 
 brother, and do not fear the Fairy. Why fear her 
 when I am with thee, and my magic horse Sharats 
 and my golden six-sided mace ? ' So Milosh began 
 to sing a beautiful song about his country, and he 
 had the most beautiful voice in the world, and Marko 
 liked the song. But still he felt drowsy, and even 
 while Milosh sang he leaned forward in his saddle 
 and dozed. Now the Fairy of the Mountain heard 
 the sweet singing and took up the song, thinking to 
 answer it with her own. But the voice of Milosh 
 was so much more beautiful than her own that it 
 angered the Fairy, and she rushed up the mountain- 
 side and took a bow and placed two arrows. With 
 one she pierced the throat of Milosh and with the 
 other one his heart. 
 
 " Alas, O my mother ! " cried Milosh as he fell 
 from his saddle. " Alas, Marko, my brother in God ! 
 The Fairy has pierced me with her arrows. Did I 
 not tell thee that I ought not to sing while we were 
 passing through the mountains ? " 
 
 Marko started from his sleep, sprang from his 
 saddle, and tightened the saddle-girths of his Sharats. 
 Then he held the head of Sharats in his hand and 
 kissed him and said : " O Sharats, my true and trusty 
 32 
 
Marko and the Fairy 
 
 WILLIAM SEWELL 
 
THE HOUSE AT NOVO SELO 
 
 steed, if thou couldst chase and capture the Fairy 
 I would shoe thee with pure silver, with pure silver 
 and with refined gold. And I would cover thee down 
 to thy knees with silk, and from the knees down 
 to the feet with silken tassels. Thy mane I would 
 mix with golden thread and adorn it with the finest 
 pearls. But if thou canst not catch the Fairy I will 
 leave thee here in the forest to carry thyself miserably 
 from tree to tree, as I am now wretched without my 
 brother in God." 
 
 Then Marko sprang to the saddle and let the reins 
 hang loose on Sharats' neck. On they sped, the 
 noise of Sharats' hoofs like thunder as he clattered 
 down the mountain-side. Soon they saw the Fairy 
 flying through the air just above the mountain as 
 Sharats was running through the midst of the woods 
 of the mountain. The instant Sharats saw the 
 Fairy he sprang three lances in height and four lances 
 forward and quickly was on the point of reaching 
 the Fairy. But when she saw herself in danger she 
 flew toward the clouds hanging in the sky. Up leapt 
 Sharats again, and Marko, hurling his golden mace 
 after her, not sparing his strength and not sparing 
 her, struck the Fairy between the shoulders and 
 brought her to the ground. Marko turned her then 
 from right to left and struck her with his six-sided 
 golden mace again. 
 
 " Why, O Fairy (and may God kill thee !), why didst 
 thou pierce with arrows my beloved brother in God ? 
 Give me at once the healing herb for that hero, else 
 shalt thou carry no longer thy head on thy shoulders." 
 
 Then the Fairy was sorry for what evil she had 
 c 33 
 
TALES OF SERBIAN LIFE 
 
 done, and implored Marko to lay down his anger 
 against her and become her brother in God. 
 
 " By the name of the highest God and by the name 
 of St John I implore thee to be my brother in God. 
 
 Marko the King's son, let me plunge alive into the 
 woods to gather from them the healing herbs which 
 will heal those wounds of that hero ! ' 
 
 Marko was always full of pity when some one ap- 
 pealed to him in such terms, and his hero heart was 
 easily moved to compassion. So he allowed the Fairy 
 to go alive into the wood, only he watched her from 
 a distance with his hand on the reins of Sharats. She 
 searched for the herbs and found them and gathered 
 them, answering often the calls of Marko : " Presently 
 
 1 return to thee through God, my brother in God." 
 And when she had gathered the herbs they went 
 
 back together to the body of Milosh, where he lay 
 with his beautiful head on the ground, and with them 
 she healed the wounds of that hero. And Milosh 
 rose up again with his heart sounder than ever and 
 his royal voice more wonderful than before. 
 
 Marko then left the Fairy with his healed brother 
 in God, and the Fairy remained sadly in the mountain. 
 Gathering her other sister fairies also, she told them : 
 " Do not shoot arrows at the heroes passing through 
 the woods so long as Kraljevitch Marko is living with 
 his magic horse Sharats and his golden six-sided 
 mace. What sufferings have I not had to-day ! Yet 
 I thank God that I remained alive ! " 
 
 And with that Dobrilla Yankovitch finished the 
 story and looked down on three very sleepy little 
 
 34 
 
THE HOUSE AT NOVO SELO 
 
 children, for Drago had hardly been able to keep his 
 eyes open even for his favourite part where Marko 
 hit the Fairy with his mace ! 
 
 " Sleepy children should be in bed/' she said, 
 picking up Drago in her arms. " And my hero 
 Marko too, else will the fairy veela catch him sleep- 
 ing ! Into your beds you go, my children ! " 
 
 35 
 
CHAPTER II : A VISIT TO BANJA 
 
 MAIKA, only come to see the great pile 
 of apples from the six big trees only 
 from them ! I have not yet touched 
 the smaller ones. How full a kola shall we have 
 to take to Banja to-morrow ! ' cried Marko as 
 he caught sight of his mother's skirt through 
 the branches. Dobrilla Yankovitch was coming 
 round the side of the house with a fowl in her 
 hand which she had just killed ready for the market 
 to-morrow. 
 
 " Indeed and that was a fine yield. Good, very 
 good/' she said, bending to look at the fruit with a 
 critical eye. ' There will be even twenty kilos there, 
 and more yet to come/ 7 pointing to one of the piles 
 which Marko had neatly arranged at the foot of the 
 tree. ' The saints have prospered us this year, for 
 first came the plums, almost as fine as Marya Popo- 
 vitch's, and her trees twice the size of ours. Now 
 we have the apples, and the pears too were none 
 so bad." 
 
 " Will there be cheese to take as well as the kaimak 
 to-morrow ? " asked the boy as he climbed down 
 from the stripped tree and carried his flat basket, 
 made last winter from the osiers bordering their 
 little stream, to the next tree. 
 
 " Not much cheese/' answered his mother, "but 
 I have made much kaimak, and there will be 
 pumpkins and the chickens and many eggs, for 
 lately the hens have laid well. Soon thou must 
 leave apple-gathering too, for there is other work 
 
 36 
 
THE HOUSE AT NOVO SELO 
 
 for thy hands. I need more logs and many 
 small branches for my fire, since I shall bake 
 to-day." 
 
 ' Where is Drago ? I have not seen him since 
 the sun was up," called Marko after his mother's 
 retreating figure. 
 
 " Drago is cowherd and swineherd too down in 
 the big meadow. Soon thou and Ivanka must go 
 to the house of Militsa Obilitch and take to her the 
 basket of apples I have promised her. She has very 
 few, and surely out of our abundance we can spare 
 one little handful." 
 
 Well did Marko know the size of that ' little 
 handful ' that his mother would send to Militsa ! 
 
 " Thy little handful, Maika," he laughed, " is 
 much more likely to break the arms of thy poor 
 little Marko and his young sister Ivanka ! " 
 
 ' Take that for a saucy boy who laughs at his old 
 mother," said Dobrilla Yankovitch, laughing herself, 
 as she gave the boy a little tap on the top of his 
 brown head. Marko skilfully dodged out of her way, 
 and clambered up the mossy trunk of the old apple- 
 tree and out on a branch that was too far up for her 
 to reach him. 
 
 " But I am idling my time when I should be 
 working," she said. " Thou knowest well the saying, 
 O my son, that ' Who likes to rest under the shadow 
 of a tree in summer, in winter goes hungry.' ' And 
 carrying her chicken she disappeared into the house 
 and began to pluck the bird rapidly, crooning a song 
 as she worked. Marko listened a minute ; then, as 
 if inspired by the song, he too began. You could 
 
 37 
 
TALES OF SERBIAN LIFE 
 
 hardly call it a song ; it was more of a shout. But 
 this is what he sang : 
 
 "Oopa tsoopa ! 
 Danas, sutra ! 
 Nikad nishta 
 Da izdrtih opanka ! " 
 
 Which means, " Up and down ! Dance to-day ! 
 Dance to-morrow ! But nothing at the end but a 
 torn sandal ! " 
 
 It was a fine tune, and Marko's feet tingled as he 
 sang. How he loved to dance ! Nothing was more 
 enjoyable than on a fine Sunday, or a feast day of 
 the Church (and there were really so many of them, 
 greater and lesser, that it was quite delightful !), 
 to go to the village, or better still to one of the 
 neighbouring villages where there were more people, 
 and watch them dancing the kolo. Every one in 
 Serbia dances the kolo a word which means ' a 
 circle/ Men and girls or men alone dance in a ring, 
 their hands on each other's shoulders or waists. 
 First a few steps to the right, then a few steps to the 
 left, or backward and forward, as the case may be. 
 Marko was able to dance most of the steps, but you 
 have to be very neat and deft of foot before you can 
 count yourself a really good kolo dancer, for though 
 the steps are very simple there are so many of them 
 to learn. And, moreover, the cleverest dancers do 
 not just dance with their feet, but with all their 
 body, every little movement having its own grace 
 and meaning. Generally the gipsies came to play 
 for the dancers ; and what lovely music they could 
 draw out of their fiddles and pipes ! When Marko 
 38 
 
THE HOUSE AT NOVO SELO 
 
 heard some familiar air like The Gipsy Girl or Lily 
 of the Valley or Igrala Kolo played it was all he could 
 do not to shout with excitement. It was as if the 
 music had got into his toes and stopped there ! 
 It was not just the music and singing which made 
 everything seem so gay, but on those high days and 
 holidays every one had their beautiful clothes on, 
 and that in itself was delightful. Marko himself 
 liked fine clothes, and he liked to see the dandies 
 of the village in their high boots, frilled white shirts, 
 and velvet waistcoats, and with the bright flower 
 behind their ears. 
 
 And the girls too, with their wide kilted skirts and 
 wonderful aprons of velvet or satin, all embroidered 
 in silks and wools with posies of pansies or big red 
 roses and figures of men and women you could 
 hardly imagine such aprons if you had not seen them. 
 
 The girls had white lawn bodices, and over them 
 little sleeveless coats of velvet all embroidered in gold 
 and silver and even strung with seed pearls ; and 
 on their heads instead of the cotton handkerchief 
 of everyday they wore fine muslin caps or silken 
 kerchiefs. Round their necks were hung one, two, or 
 even three necklaces of gold or silver coins, which 
 tinkled prettily as they danced. 
 
 But you should have seen little Ivanka dancing 
 the kolo. She could dance there was not a step she 
 could not manage after she had practised it once or 
 twice, and she was never out of breath or tired ! 
 Even when the older boys and girls called " Enough ! 
 Enough ! " and sank down in merry groups on the 
 grass after some quick-stepping kolo, the small 
 
 39 
 
TALES OF SERBIAN LIFE 
 
 Ivanka would still dance solemnly on quite alone, 
 while the gipsies, who love to see anyone so quick 
 and clever, played faster and more furiously than 
 ever, just for fun, to see if they could tire her out. 
 But they never could ! 
 
 How proud Maika was of her little daughter when 
 she danced so cleverly, and what a fuss the older 
 people made of her because she was such a dear 
 little girl and had such nimble feet ! She always 
 looked so pretty with her red silk handkerchief 
 tied over her silky hair hair so fine and shining 
 that it really was a shame to have it covered. And 
 on feast days the Maika always hung round Ivanka's 
 neck the three rows of silver coins which she had 
 worn herself when she was a little girl. Then Ivanka 
 would kiss her mother's hand and say in her pretty 
 voice : 
 
 " Thanks for the generous gift, O my mother ! 
 May thy life be long/' which was, of course, the 
 proper thing to say at that time. And Maika would 
 just as gravely reply, as she kissed the girl on her 
 brow : " May thy soul be happy before God." 
 After that Ivanka would., scamper off with her 
 brothers, and before long would be the gayest of 
 the dancing circle. 
 
 Marko's song from the apple-tree suddenly ceased, 
 for he saw his sister coming from the well with a 
 pitcher of water in her hand, and he called out to 
 her : " Ohe, Ivanka ! Here is a fine big apple for a 
 girl who can dance the teeta teeta dance with a pitcher 
 of water on her shoulder/' 
 
 Now this was sheer teasing, for the dance that 
 40 
 
THE HOUSE AT NOVO SELO 
 
 Marko meant is one to which the song which begins 
 " Teeta teeta loboda" is sung all the time while the 
 dance is going on, and the dancers have to face each 
 other part of the time and shake their heads at one 
 another, clapping their hands in time to the music. 
 So you see it was hardly possible to do what Marko 
 suggested ! But he was in a mischievous mood that 
 morning, and dearly loved to tease Ivanka because 
 she was generally rather solemn. 
 
 She saw the joke of this, however, and all her white 
 teeth gleamed as she laughed at Marko and said, 
 shaking her small head : " Wait, only wait till I 
 have carried my pitcher into the house, for it's heavy, 
 and then I will show who can dance the longest/' 
 
 " Lazy one, lazy one ! " shouted Marko from his 
 tree. " Only wait a moment/' and he began to sing 
 another song, swaying up and down as he bestrode 
 a big branch of the apple-tree he was stripping of its 
 fruit. 
 
 " Oopa tsoopa, chizme moye ! 
 I kod kuche imam dvoye, 
 Al niyedne nissu moye ! " 
 
 Which means, " Up and down, my boots ! At home 
 have I two pairs, yet none of them are mine ! ' ; 
 
 And that was the one particular tune Ivanka could 
 never resist ! Down went the pitcher on the ground, 
 and here and there like dragon-flies darted the tireless 
 little brown feet, while Marko shouted the song at the 
 top of his voice and clapped his hands to mark the 
 time. 
 
 Chedda toddled unsteadily to the door to see what 
 all the noise was about, and when he saw Marko 
 
 4* 
 
TALES OF SERBIAN LIFE 
 
 clapping his hands he tried to clap his too, but he 
 was so fat that he overbalanced and fell down with a 
 flop. Just then a stray pig came round the corner of 
 the house, and of course bumped right into Ivanka's 
 pitcher of water and upset it, so she had to stop 
 dancing and make another journey to the well for 
 more. Marko at last came down from the tree and 
 began piling up the fruit ready for carrying into the 
 house. 
 
 Much of the fruit would go to Banja and be sold 
 next day, some would be kept for the winter use of the 
 household, and not a little would find its way into 
 Marko's interior ! For he had a certain weakness 
 in the matter of plums and apples, like many other 
 boys. 
 
 Maika left her baking to superintend the picking 
 of a nice basketful of the apples for their neigh- 
 bour, and then dispatched Marko to the forest to 
 fetch brushwood and chop logs for her big fire. 
 Luckily there was always plenty of wood for the 
 fetching, and Marko was a big strong boy for his 
 age, able to handle alone all but the really big logs. 
 
 " Ivanka shall take her the stockings I finished 
 yesterday too/' thought Maika as she knelt on the 
 grass packing the apples. " The pattern is so fine 
 now that I have found the good colours with which 
 to make the trees. A pity that Militsa cannot see 
 well enough to do this work. That is beyond a 
 doubt the most beautiful pair of stockings that I 
 have seen for many years. 
 
 " And my little Ivanka will make a clever girl 
 with her fingers. In another summer she will knit 
 42 
 
THE HOUSE AT NOVO SELO 
 
 as quickly as I do, and she spins well already. Soon 
 she shall weave, both the flax and the wool. And 
 I will show her the dyes, so that she may prepare 
 everything with her own hands, as she will like to do/' 
 
 When Marko had finished his wood-cutting he 
 found Ivanka waiting for him with the big basket 
 of apples. 
 
 " Ohe ! " he cried, " so that is my mother's little 
 handful ! I thought it would be of ,a weight sufficient 
 to break both my arms and thine ! " And with 
 another shout of " Oh, bad mother to burden so thy 
 little feeble son ! " the sturdy lad caught hold of the 
 handle, while Ivanka took the other side, and they 
 set off together. 
 
 The way to Militsa Obilitch's house lay through 
 their own orchard, out of the gap in the fencing, and 
 over the stream where the clothes were washed ; 
 then they had to wind round a couple of maize-fields 
 and take a rough track, very rutty and dusty, 
 although in winter it would be muddy enough to 
 mire them to their knees, and then to descend a 
 steep hill and ford the big stream at the bottom. 
 There were stepping-stones half in and half out of 
 the water, and it was not easy to get the big basket 
 across, even though bare feet do grip on the stones 
 better than booted ones. However, they got over 
 without any accident, but the basket seemed to 
 have grown heavier for the last few yards, and it 
 was with a sigh of relief that they laid it down and 
 sat by the banks of the stream for a few minutes 
 dangling their toes in the water before climbing up 
 the next steep hill. 
 
 43 
 
TALES OF SERBIAN LIFE 
 
 " Are all to go to Banja to-morrow ? " said Marko 
 then. " Shall I go with the Maika too to sell the 
 pigs, or is it only thou and the loads of pumpkins 
 and suchlike stuff ? ' 
 
 " I do not know/' replied Ivanka, " but I think 
 the pigs are to go, for I heard Branko Yakshich talk- 
 ing to our Maika last evening as he brought down 
 wood from the forest, and then she told him that 
 nine pigs were big and fat enough to sell/' 
 
 " There are only eight really worth the buying as 
 yet/'" remarked Marko importantly, for he considered 
 himself the best authority on those pigs. Had he 
 not been swineherd since they were tiny piglings ? 
 " But if the pigs go, then / go too/' he added, for on 
 no account would Marko miss the excitement of a 
 day in Banja if he could help it. There was so much 
 to see and so much to do so many people to watch, 
 particularly now since the folk who came in the 
 summer-time would still be there, as the weather 
 continued so warm and fine. He found a never- 
 ending amusement in studying the ways of those 
 strange townspeople who never seemed to have any 
 work to do, since they were apparently able to sit 
 all day at the little tables in front of the kafanas, 
 eating and drinking whatever they liked. Marko 
 knew they must be immensely rich to be able to do 
 all that, yet what puzzled him was how they were 
 able to leave their crops and cattle to look after 
 themselves while they stayed in Banja ! There was 
 Uncle Ivan, who certainly w r as not nearly so rich 
 as those people, yet who had very many fields and a 
 vast number of cattle and he found it very difficult 
 
 44 
 
THE HOUSE AT NOVO SELO 
 
 to leave his mill and his potatoes for even two 
 days ! 
 
 Marko was still puzzling his mind with thoughts 
 like these when Ivanka, who was less given to dream- 
 ing, got up and picked up her end of the basket. 
 " Come, Marko, come quickly, or we shall never be 
 there. And also I am more than a little hungry, 
 and there is often good kaimak at Militsa Obilitch's, 
 which she gives one kindly/' 
 
 This interested Marko too, so he grabbed the basket 
 handle, and soon they were at the top of the hill 
 and only a field from the little orchard of plums 
 in the very middle of which stood the house they 
 were making for. A couple of savage-looking grey 
 dogs rushed out, barking furiously, but they soon 
 recognized friends and came round the children 
 wagging their tails amiably. Militsa's house was a 
 very funny one, for it did not stand on the ground 
 like all the others of the district, but its two rooms 
 were perched high in the air over a kind of rough 
 barn open on one side. From the barn, in which 
 lay a big pile of maize stalks and leaves, serving as 
 food for the cattle in the winter months, and where 
 fowls, pigs, and goats, to say nothing of a young calf, 
 appeared to live together, you mounted to the house 
 by a flight of wooden steps exactly like those still 
 to be seen in some hen-houses in England. 
 
 As Marko and Ivanka approached the house, ac- 
 companied by the dogs, a voice called to them from 
 a window above, " Be free to enter/' and looking 
 up they saw Militsa Obilitch and her two younger 
 children, Yovan and Kossara, while the eldest boy, 
 
 45 
 
TALES OF SERBIAN LIFE 
 
 Petar, came from behind the barn with some eggs 
 in his hand, and ran up to greet them. 
 
 " Good-day, Militsa Obilitch," they called back. 
 " We have brought greetings and a small gift of 
 apples from our mother. " 
 
 " Come up, children ; I am busy here," called 
 down Militsa again, and she appeared at the top of 
 the wooden steps, smiling her pleasure at seeing them. 
 With some difficulty Ivanka and Marko tugged the 
 heavy basket up the stairs, and Militsa Obilitch 
 exclaimed as she saw the fine present they had 
 brought her. 
 
 She had a big fire burning in her wide, open hearth, 
 and over it hung by an iron hook and chain a big 
 copper pot in which bubbled and simmered some 
 maize which she was stirring. What a bare room 
 it was ! Only a couple of wooden stools and a bed 
 for furniture, and a high shelf right round the walls 
 to hold baskets and hemp, tools and small tackle. 
 Even the inner room was almost as bare, though it 
 had a small stove in one corner and a table and a 
 couple of chairs, besides the two wooden beds with 
 a few blankets laid on them. The old grandmother 
 was sitting on the floor shelling maize cobs into 
 a big bowl. She was nearly blind, and so could 
 do little to help her daughter in the house, but she 
 was pleased when she had some small tasks to do, 
 and she remembered Ivanka's voice when she and 
 Marko went up to kiss her hand, which is the pretty 
 way in which Serbian children show respect for old 
 people. 
 
 Little Kossara was a very shy child, even shy of 
 
THE HOUSE AT NOVO SELO 
 
 other children, and she hid behind her old Baba's 
 skirts when Ivanka tried to play with her. The boys 
 were quiet too, or at least they seemed quiet after 
 Marko 's noisy ways and Drago's chuckling laugh, 
 which you always heard when he had some bit of 
 special mischief on hand which was not seldom ! 
 
 However, Yovan had a fine calf he wanted to show 
 to Marko, and the two soon clattered down the stairs 
 to inspect it, while Petar took his mother's place at 
 the cauldron and solemnly stirred the maize with a 
 long stick so that his mother was free to be as hospit- 
 able as her kindly heart wished. And the poorest 
 Serbian peasant would rather die than be unable 
 to exercise his natural love of hospitality toward a 
 guest. So Militsa Obilitch bustled about, and soon 
 there was a big bowl of hot milk for Ivanka and 
 another for Marko when he should come in, and a large 
 piece of maize-bread, because they had come almost 
 at midday, with what Ivanka dearly loved, a big 
 slab of kaimak, and that is neither cream nor butter 
 nor cheese, but a sort of delicious mixture of all 
 three ! 
 
 Then there were the stockings to admire, the ones 
 which Dobrilla Yankovitch had first knitted and then 
 embroidered. Such beautiful stockings in scarlet, 
 with a pattern of green trees and yellow figures 
 worked all round the top. Militsa's eyes were not 
 good, so she could not do such beautiful work her- 
 self, though of course she could knit as fast and 
 well as anyone, having knitted since childhood, like 
 all Serbian women. 
 
 Still she was deeply interested in it, and took the 
 
 47 
 
TALES OF SERBIAN LIFE 
 
 stockings to the light to examine them more closely, 
 till two neighbours came and she delightedly dis- 
 played them again for the new-comers' pleasure, 
 while she herself disappeared to make the coffee 
 that is an inevitable feature in a Serbian visit. 
 
 That was a thing which Ivanka dearly loved to do 
 when she was at home and neighbours came to see 
 her mother. Carefully she would get down the little 
 tray and arrange the tiny cups and saucers on it, 
 placing by the side of each cup a tumbler full of clear 
 cold water and a lump of sugar. Then she would 
 grind the coffee berries in the tall brass coffee-mill, 
 and measuring out a cupful of cold water and a tea- 
 spoonful of sugar for every visitor, she would boil 
 the water and sugar in the tiny copper pan. When 
 it was quite boiling she would add the coffee very 
 carefully, just a spoonful for every cup, and watch 
 it anxiously till it boiled. Then she would take it 
 off the stove, put it back till it boiled again, and 
 remove it and repeat the process, never, however, 
 letting it boil for more than a second or two. After 
 that it would be poured into the little cups, and 
 Ivanka would try to have a little of the ' froth ' 
 on the surface of each cup, for that was the great 
 and finishing touch. 
 
 Then she would carry round the tray, pausing 
 before each guest with her gentle " Izvolite, Gospodja," 
 which means, " Please be so good as to accept this, 
 Mrs So-and-So," and every one would praise the 
 coffee and say how well Ivanka made it. 
 
 And Militsa Obilitch pleased her very much by 
 including her among the grown-up people this day 
 
THE HOUSE AT NOVO SELO 
 
 and coming to her after the others were served, 
 half in fun, saying, " Izvolite, Gospodjitsa," which 
 made Ivanka feel very grown-up too ! Indeed, 
 she was in no hurry to leave, and if Marko had not 
 come back with Petar and Yovan there is no telling 
 how long she would have stayed ! 
 
 But the basket was empty going home, and it was 
 not so very late when they ran into their own orchard 
 not too late, at all events, for a big plate of beans 
 cooked in oil and a slice of the new-baked bread, all 
 hot and crumbly, which was just how the children 
 liked it. 
 
 The next morning broke colder, and there was 
 more than a touch of autumn in the air. Mist hung 
 in wreaths over the mountains and drifted slowly 
 down the slopes. The bullocks' warm breath made 
 a sort of steamy halo round their patient heads as 
 they stood waiting for the yoke to be attached and 
 their load made ready for them. Early rising was 
 the custom always in the Httle household, but that 
 day was begun even earlier than usual, for the slow- 
 moving oxen would not hasten their pace even though 
 Banja and its market lay ahead, and the need for 
 securing a good place among the stalls was impera- 
 tive. Not that it made so great a difference to them 
 as it would to some, Dobrilla Yankovitch thought 
 proudly as she looked over the plump fowls, the 
 delicious creamy kaimak, and the piles of juicy apples, 
 to the heaped-up golden pumpkins and basket of 
 eggs. It was a pity the grapes were so small and 
 that they were so few. Perhaps next year they 
 would be able to dig more deeply round the vines 
 D 49 
 
TALES OF SERBIAN LIFE 
 
 and keep the brambles at bay, so that there would 
 be a crop worth having. 
 
 Chedda and Drago, wrapped in their little sheep- 
 skin jackets against the chill of the morning, were 
 already in the kola by the time Marko had collected 
 his nine pigs and marshalled them ready for the 
 start. The bullocks began their even jog-trot pace, 
 Ivanka and Maika walking by the side of the kola, 
 and the pigs and their guide marching a little ahead, 
 Marko armed with a long switch cut from the hedges, 
 the better to control his unruly family, and gaily 
 singing as he went : 
 
 " Oopa tsoopa ! 
 Danas, sutra ! 
 Nikad nishta 
 Da izdrtih opanka ! " 
 
 looking round from time to time teasingly at Ivanka 
 to see if she was taking any notice ! 
 
 Though it was still early when the kola rumbled 
 across the narrow bridge leading into Banja and 
 wended its way slowly up the principal street, past 
 the big Krona Hotel, past the Cafe de 1'Europe, and 
 round into the market-place by the fountain, the 
 pretty pink and white town was full of animation. 
 Many of the market stalls were already occupied ; 
 peasant women were busy laying out their goods, 
 their husbands and brothers talking in the back- 
 ground, leaning against the big loads of firewood 
 they had brought down from the forests, ready cut 
 into logs for the housekeepers of Banja to purchase. 
 
 Ivanka backed the oxen into a corner well out of 
 the way of the passers-by, and lifted Chedda down 
 
 50 
 
THE HOUSE AT NOVO SELO 
 
 so that the good things they had brought with them 
 could be set out on the little wooden trestle table. 
 When the kola was empty Chedda could sit on a pile 
 of maize stalks in the bottom out of harm's way, 
 and would stay there playing quite happily with a 
 lapful of walnuts. As for the pigs, they were so 
 used to being driven up and down every day for food 
 that they were less trouble to manage than a flock 
 of sheep would be in England on a market-day, 
 and Drago was called into service here to keep the 
 nine more or less together till a possible customer 
 arrived. Marko looked at them with the severe 
 eyes of a critic, but he could see little amiss with 
 them. 
 
 It was rather early yet for the brisk marketing to 
 begin, but even now there was a general air of bustle 
 and activity which pleased Marko. The shrill voices 
 of the country women as they argued over their 
 prices with the first early-rising housewives who came 
 into the square, their baskets on their arms, all pre- 
 pared to spend an hour or more in bargaining over 
 a few fowls or a kilo or two of apples, the cries of the 
 children, the creaking wheels of the bullock-carts, 
 had for accompaniment the splash of the clear 
 fountain in the market-place and the babble of the 
 busy mountain stream which ran through the centre 
 of the little town over a rocky bed. Kow blue the 
 sky was, and how intensely blue the water, save where 
 it broke into miniature waterfalls over the big stones 
 in the river-bed and threw up sparkling showers 
 and foam ! On one side of the principal street was 
 the pretty Park, with its fine tall trees, and behind 
 
TALES OF SERBIAN LIFE 
 
 the gay pink and white villas, their gardens bright 
 with flowers and planted with vivid green shrubs, 
 towered the tree-clad mountains. None of the houses 
 were alike; some were long and low, and white- 
 washed, with light green shutters, others were high 
 and peaked-roofed, with little balconies gay with 
 flowers jutting out in all directions. Here was a 
 square white hotel, and there a wooden chalet 
 perched upon the side of the hill overlooking the 
 market-place. 
 
 Outside all the kafanas and hotels stood little 
 tables, overflowing from their terraces right into the 
 street, and already these were beginning to fill with 
 groups of people coming out to breathe the fresh 
 morning air and drink their coffee in the sunshine. 
 Marko looked up and down and from left to right, 
 and gave one big sigh of utter content. There was 
 something about all this which pleased his boyish 
 mind immensely, and he waited rather impatiently 
 till all that they had brought with them was arranged 
 on the stall to the best advantage. 
 
 Then he saw that his mother was deeply engaged 
 in conversation with a shopkeeper of Ban] a, who was 
 eyeing the pigs in the manner of a possible customer 
 which means that he was looking at them at present 
 with his nose turned very much in the air. Of course 
 Marko knew quite well what that meant the pigs 
 evidently pleased him and he meant to buy, after, 
 of course, an hour's seemingly endless bargaining 
 and wrangling over prices. And equally of course he 
 would end by paying Dobrilla Yankovitch something 
 like a quarter of the sum she would begin by asking 
 
THE HOUSE AT NOVO SELO 
 
 for them and he would pay about three times as 
 much as he had himself first offered ! It was all 
 part of the game of buying and selling, and from 
 Dobrilla and Marko Yankovitch's point of view it 
 would have been the worst sign possible had the 
 shopkeeper admired the pigs and agreed with her 
 as to their size and fatness. Instead of that he was 
 abusing them in every tone of reproach he could utter. 
 " Call you those pigs? " he was saying when Marko 's 
 attention was first drawn to him. " I call them 
 skeletons ! It is a shame to bring such wretched, 
 miserable creatures to market. There should be a 
 law forbidding such things. For one thing, a person 
 who bought such animals now would have to spend 
 a small fortune in feeding them before they were 
 ready for killing/' 
 
 Here Dobrilla's voice broke in : " It is evident 
 that you have never looked at the pigs with a close 
 eye. One has only to look, Gospodin, to see the fat 
 nearly bursting out of their skins. Such plump, 
 well-fed little pigs were never before brought to 
 Ban] a Market. But the people here are so un- 
 accustomed to the sight of such beautiful creatures 
 that they have no idea what is a right and proper 
 price to ask for such flesh. Never would I sell even 
 the youngest or smallest for twice the price you offer 
 every pig shall go back to Novo Selo rather than 
 such a sacrifice be made. To Krushevats they shall 
 go rather than be -sold in a place like Banja, where 
 the inhabitants have so little idea of purchasing." 
 
 Marko did not stay to listen to any more. He knew 
 that his mother was thoroughly enjoying her little 
 
 53 
 
TALES OF SERBIAN LIFE 
 
 sale, and the big shopkeeper was evidently bent on 
 a purchase. The deal bid fair to last for another 
 hour yet, so Marko edged away and strolled up the 
 row of stalls. Here were the butchers with their 
 little fat pigs hung up in the place of honour, joints 
 of beef and mutton meekly in the background. 
 There were the braziers filled with charcoal over 
 which women were bending frying little hot cakes 
 in oil which they sold to the market people as they 
 came in hungry from the morning coldness. All the 
 men wore brown homespun trousers and waistcoats 
 and spotless linen shirts, their feet in opanke and 
 on their heads high black Astrakhan caps. For the 
 most part they formed little groups around the wooden 
 carts and sat on the benches outside the humbler 
 kafanas, drinking a cup of coffee or a glass of the fiery 
 spirit rakija. A group of gipsies made a vivid patch 
 of colour, for the women wore gaudy handkerchiefs 
 and bright aprons, with necklaces of gold or silver 
 and big copper bracelets on their arms, which jingled 
 as they walked. Their menfolk carried big sticks 
 on their shoulders, with wild birds slung along them 
 ready for sale, and some of the women had baskets 
 which they had woven from the willow osiers and 
 now sold to the visitors. 
 
 But all this was familiar to Marko, he knew it all 
 as well as he knew the nose on his face, and the part 
 of Banja which drew him most was not the market- 
 place, but the town itself, the shops, the kafanas, 
 the bandstand in the Park, and most of all the people 
 who strolled up and down the walks or sat at the 
 little tables. 
 
 54 
 
THE HOUSE AT NOVO SELO 
 
 But the sun was getting up and the streets grew 
 fuller and gayer. The shopkeepers and housewives 
 now thronged the market, looking at the cheese 
 and eggs and always driving very shrewd bargains. 
 Everywhere the sound of music seemed to be heard, 
 for there were little kafanas and open-air concert- 
 rooms scattered all over the Park, and every one 
 had its group of visitors sitting at the small round 
 tables or standing near the band listening to the song 
 or gipsy air which was being played. 
 
 Most of the officers were still in their white summer 
 tunics, and Marko looked from one to the other to 
 see by the different colours of their facings to which 
 branch of the service each belonged. Here and 
 there the dove-grey uniform of the Serbian army 
 was to be seen evidently worn by some who did 
 not find the warmth of the sun sufficient to justify 
 white linen ; and there too Marko would pick out 
 the blue velvet collars of the cavalry, the black 
 of the artillery, and the red of the infantry. He 
 particularly admired the high black boots of the 
 cavalrymen so shiny that you could see your face 
 in their polished surface and the splendid jingling 
 spurs, and their beautiful lemon kid gloves. And 
 he liked the way their long swords clanked when 
 they walked. There were ladies with some of the 
 soldiers, all in pretty dresses, and children too. But 
 Marko was not so interested in them as he was in 
 the officers. Of course when he was older Marko 
 would have to do his military service like all the 
 boys, but he knew that it would not be possible for 
 him to remain in the army always, like Cousin 
 
 55 
 
TALES OF SERBIAN LIFE 
 
 Andreas ; he was the eldest son, and it would be 
 his work to till the maize-fields and plant the vines 
 after his days in barracks were over. Cousin Andreas 
 was already a corporal : soon, indeed, he would be 
 a sergeant, for he was a clever cousin that Andreas, 
 and very popular in the cavalry regiment to which 
 he belonged. There was nothing he could not do with 
 a horse ; even in a country where men ride from 
 babyhood he was reckoned to be a wonderful rider. 
 By and by he might be an officer even, with a big 
 clanking sword like the one the man at that little 
 table wore, which was sticking out into the street 
 (some one would certainly trip over it, thought Marko, 
 as he stood gazing at the unconscious captain of 
 cavalry). For in Serbia there is nothing strange in 
 the sight of a smart officer suddenly stopping in his 
 walk to embrace a poor peasant dressed in sheepskin 
 coat and fur cap, saluting him as ' uncle ' or ' cousin/ 
 and some of Serbia's greatest generals have been men 
 who in their boyhood have herded pigs and goats 
 on the hill-sides and slept in the little thatched 
 cottages among the maize-fields. 
 
 And Marko thought less of those things than he 
 did of the joy of having a horse to ride and a gun 
 of his own. Of course he could shoot already, for 
 he was twelve years old, and such a big, sturdy lad 
 that he would get a warm welcome from the drill- 
 sergeant when he turned in at the barracks ready 
 to begin his time of service in his country's army. 
 
 Up and down the street of shops he wandered, 
 now pausing to examine the gay handkerchiefs in 
 the drapers' shops and wondering which one he 
 
 56 
 
THE HOUSE AT NOVO SELO 
 
 would buy for his sister when he had money enough, 
 now picking up one of the bunch of shoes which 
 were hanging outside the leather shop, to see how 
 the straps were fastened on. The windows of the 
 jewellery shops pleased him greatly, and he looked 
 at the gay strings of coral, the yellow amber beads, 
 and the silver coin necklets with more attention 
 than at anything, except the watches, which were 
 put out on a velvet tray on one side of the shop- 
 window. Marko could not tell the time except by 
 the sun, but he greatly admired the watches all the 
 same. 
 
 Most of the shops were doing a brisk trade in little 
 ' souvenirs ' of Banja, for now that the days were 
 beginning to have a touch of autumn in them many 
 of the visitors were preparing to go, and of course 
 they would all buy gifts for their friends at home. 
 
 Marko edged his way as near as he dared to one 
 or two little family parties, and watched them with 
 breathless interest as they discussed the charms of 
 the little oak boxes cut and carved with ' Souvenir 
 of Banja ' in gilt letters across the top and debated 
 as to whether a carved model of the little church or 
 a crystal ball with a picture of Banja in a snowstorm 
 painted on one side of it was the more beautiful. 
 
 But suddenly Marko's attention wandered, for he 
 had seen in the distance the people who fascinated 
 him more than any people he had ever seen in the 
 whole of his twelve years of life the little group 
 of English from the ' English Mission ' on the hill. 
 That was what the inhabitants of Banja called the 
 twenty English doctors and nurses who had come to 
 
 57 
 
TALES OF SERBIAN LIFE 
 
 live among them when the dreaded typhus raged, 
 and who had stayed on after the fever had abated 
 to do their best for the sick peasants of the neigh- 
 bourhood. 
 
 Marko knew where they lived, up at the pretty 
 balconied Villa Shumadia, and not very far away was 
 their hospital, the low, whitewashed Barrake. He 
 had never been inside the hospital, but he had seen 
 once or twice when he had brought a load of wood 
 up to the town the long line of ' out-patients ' stand- 
 ing before the canvas tent which served as waiting- 
 room and dispensary. Sometimes he had ventured 
 nearer, and listened to the Serbian interpreter who 
 told the English doctors what the Serbians said, 
 and told the patients what the doctors and nurses 
 wanted them to do. Although Marko was a lively 
 enough young rascal in his own village, he was rather 
 shy with these people who did not speak his own 
 language, and though he often longed to go nearer 
 and see all the marvels inside the big tent with his 
 own eyes at closer quarters, at the last moment his 
 courage always failed him and he would run away 
 as if a wolf were after him ! There were two people 
 particularly whom he adored in secret, but with the 
 funny shyness of a little boy who has seen few 
 people other than those of his own village for the 
 greater part of his life, he would have died rather 
 than that they should ever notice him as he peeped 
 round the corner of the tent door watching their 
 every movement, or stood gazing after them as they 
 passed down the street. 
 
 One was a big English doctor dressed in khaki 
 
 58 
 
THE HOUSE AT NOVO SELO 
 
 clothes with three stars on his sleeves, so Marko 
 knew that he was a captain. The other was the 
 little Sister he always called in secret the ' Mali 
 Sestra/ because she was so little and took such tmy 
 steps as she walked down the street by the side of 
 the other English people (who all walked, Marko 
 thought, as if they were in a big hurry and took 
 such enormous strides that they seemed to swallow 
 up the earth as they went) . 
 
 Some days when Marko came into Banja he did 
 not see either of his two particular friends, and then 
 he was always much disappointed, but to-day he was 
 in luck, for they were both there, walking down the 
 street with three other people, all dressed like the 
 ' Mali Sestra ' in cotton dresses and spotless aprons, 
 with white handkerchiefs tied over their hair like 
 peasant women. Their clothes and ways were a big 
 puzzle to Marko, for he was sure that in their own 
 country they were rich people, yet here they were 
 walking about the streets instead of driving up and 
 down like the Serbian ladies, and tramping far into 
 the mountains instead of sitting before the cafes 
 drinking endless cups of coffee and eating sugar cakes. 
 
 Most of all Marko liked to hear the funny way they 
 tried to talk his language. Some of them had been in 
 the country as long as half a year and yet could say no 
 more than " Dobar dan " l and " Koliko koshta " 2 when 
 they tried to buy anything from one of the market 
 stalls. But some and among these were included 
 his two favourites would make great efforts to talk 
 with their friends among the peasant folk, and oh, 
 
 1 " Good day." 2 " How much is this ? " 
 
 59 
 
TALES OF SERBIAN LIFE 
 
 joy ! evidently to-day they were making for the 
 market-place. Marko hurried after them breath- 
 lessly, and arrived a few paces behind them just 
 as they stopped before- his mother's kola to admire 
 baby Chedda, who was playing contentedly with a 
 packet of bright leaves that Ivanka had picked to 
 amuse him while she was busy. Very fortunately 
 Dobrilla did not understand what they were saying, 
 for in Serbia it is not considered at all lucky to praise 
 a baby in its presence, and the English people were 
 saying what a lovely boy he was and admiring his 
 big brown eyes. 
 
 "And look, Dr Gordon/ 5 said the little Sister, 
 " there is my handsome boy again. I'm sure this 
 is his baby brother don't you see how alike they 
 are ? The big one comes nearly every Tuesday and 
 peeps in at the door of the out-patients' tent. I'm 
 sure he wants to make friends. Don't look straight 
 at him now, though, or he'll know we're talking 
 about him, and I do want him to forget his shyness. 
 Pretend to buy something at the mother's stall I'm 
 sure she is the mother." And the little Sister turned 
 away and began to look at the apples and cheese 
 which were all that was left of Maika's stock-in- 
 trade; for it had seemed as though all Banja had 
 wanted to buy that morning, and Dobrilla Yanko- 
 vitch's face was very happy as she felt the weight of 
 the good silver dinara which were making her pocket 
 so heavy under the embroidered apron. 
 
 The big doctor walked away from the stall to the 
 grocery shop just at the corner where you could buy 
 delicious ratluk and sweet chocolate, and when he 
 60 
 
THE HOUSE AT NOVO SELO 
 
 came out again his hands were fuller than when he 
 went in, and his purse lighter too. 
 
 ' How's that for a beginning ? " he said to the 
 ' Mali Sestra,' who was now buying her apples and 
 trying to talk to Maika they did not get on very 
 fast except by smiles, but they knew that they were 
 friends, and that is more important than language. 
 r ' No, you give it to him, and the other is for the 
 solemn little chap over there. I feel sure he's part 
 of the family party/' and the big doctor handed over 
 the two parcels to the little Sister, and then stood 
 looking down at them all with his hands stuck into 
 his trouser pockets, which was a shocking habit of 
 his, and laughing like the great boy he was. The 
 English girl turned to Dobrilla, and in her pretty 
 halting Serbian she said : "Is this your son, and 
 this smaller one too ? They are fine boys." 
 
 Dobrilla smiled and answered : " Yes, Gospodjitsa, 
 they are both mine, also the tiny one whom you 
 see playing in the kola. A daughter have I too, 
 my little helper, Ivanka, and she is here also. Come, 
 Ivanka, and kiss the hand of the pretty Gospodjitsa," 
 and shy little Ivanka was gently pushed forward 
 to kiss the little Sister's hand, which she did in 
 her pretty, graceful way. Dobrilla Maika had 
 spoken far too quickly for the ' Mali Sestra ' to 
 understand more than a few words of what she 
 had said, but she was quick to grasp the fact that 
 Ivanka was the little sister of her favourite boy, 
 and she said quickly to the big doctor: " Oh ! 
 we haven't anything for the girl. Do run across 
 to the shop and get a packet for her too. I 
 
 61 
 
TALES OF SERBIAN LIFE 
 
 should hate to disappoint her when both the boys 
 have had sweeties/' And of course the big doctor 
 went, while the ' Mali Sestra ' turned again to 
 Dobrilla. " And what do you call your children ? ' 
 she asked Dobrilla Maika. 
 
 " Here is Marko," said Dobrilla proudly ; " he is 
 my eldest born, and will be tall like his father, by 
 God's help. Ivanka is my daughter ; and there is 
 fat Drago ; and my small baby, Chedda, is my 
 heart's delight, though a bad rascal too." 
 
 The ' Mali Sestra ' caught the names, and when 
 the big doctor came back she held the packets of 
 chocolates out to the children, smiling rather shyly. 
 ' There is some chocolate, Marko ; that is your 
 chocolate. Here, Ivanka, is yours, and that is for 
 Drago and Chedda." It was not very good grammar, 
 perhaps, but you may be sure the children knew 
 what she meant ! Ivanka and Drago came readily 
 enough to kiss her hand and say, " Hvala lepo, 
 Gospodjitsa," which means, of course, " Thank you 
 very much," but Marko was so shy and happy all 
 mixed up that it was as much as he could do not to 
 run away and hide behind the bullock-cart, big boy 
 as he was. However, he was really much too polite 
 to do that, and when he saw his mother's eye fixed 
 rather anxiously on him for she was wondering a 
 little if he had forgotten what she had always taught 
 him he came forward blushing to the roots of his 
 hair and kissed the pretty hand held out to him, but 
 he could not say a word, not even " Thank you." 
 
 The ' Mali Sestra ' could not think of any more 
 Serbian just then, so she just smiled and waved her 
 62 
 
THE HOUSE AT NOVO SELO 
 
 hand to them all and said " Zbogom," l and they all 
 answered " Zbogom " too. Then she was gone, with 
 the big doctor, and they joined the other English 
 people, who were waiting rather impatiently for them 
 across the street, and all walked up toward the Villa 
 Shumadia together. 
 
 After that Marko was not greatly interested in 
 anything, for he was so excited at having talked with 
 his two English people at last that Dobrilla Maika 
 had in the end to be rather cross with him because 
 he just sat on the edge of the kola and drummed 
 his heels on the side and thought about the new 
 friends instead of helping her to pack up the rest 
 of the unsold goods and prepare for the start home- 
 ward. However, long before they reached the village 
 he was his normal self again, and then his mother 
 stopped scolding, so all was peace once more. The 
 pigs had sold well, all except two which she had 
 decided to keep until they were fatter, for the prices 
 that had been offered to her that morning did not 
 seem sufficient, and she judged that a couple more 
 weeks with the rest of the herd would do them no 
 harm. There was much to do when they got back 
 to Novo Selo animals to feed, a meal to prepare for 
 the hungry ones in the house, water to fetch, and 
 w r ood to chop ; so Marko and Ivanka bustled about 
 for the rest of the day, while Dobrilla Maika set off 
 for the stream with a lot of clothes to wash. She 
 knelt on a big stone by the side of the bank and 
 pounded away at the clothes with another stone, 
 rinsing them out in the cold running water. One 
 
 1 " Good-bye." 
 
 63 
 
TALES OF SERBIAN LIFE 
 
 might have expected this treatment to have a 
 disastrous effect upon the clothes ; but being woven 
 by hand of good strong flax, they did not appear to be 
 any the worse, and when dried were beautifully clean. 
 
 Between one thing and another it was many 
 evenings before there was any more time for story- 
 telling, but one night when October had come in with 
 its touch of frost on the grass and the stars shone 
 bright in the sky Dobrilla gathered her chickens 
 round her once again, this time in the warm house 
 round the wide hearth where blazed the big logs 
 that Marko had cut. 
 
 And while the baby Chedda slept in her arms, and 
 Drago, cuddling the cat, nestled against her wide 
 skirts, Maika, keeping a watchful eye on Ivanka's 
 spinning meantime, fulfilled the long-made promise 
 to Marko, who sat, open-mouthed and wide-eyed, 
 drinking in every word, as she told the tale of which 
 he was never weary, the story of the great fight 
 between Marko Kraljevitch and the terrible Moossa 
 Kesseyiya. 
 
 And this is the tale as Maika Yankovitch told it 
 to her children : 
 
 HOW MARKO KRALJEVITCH SLEW 
 MOOSSA KESSEYIYA 
 
 Long, long ago, in the days when Marko Kraljevitch 
 lived, there was a man named Moossa and surnamed 
 Kesseyiya, which means 'the Quarrelsome/ who was 
 a rebel against the Emperor of Turkey. He was a 
 great and powerful rebel, and whenever the Emperor 
 
THE HOUSE AT NOVO SELO 
 
 sent soldiers to take him prisoner Moossa always 
 defeated and slew them, so that the Emperor made 
 a great proclamation over all his empire offering 
 big rewards to anyone who should overcome him. 
 Many brave knights went to try to gain the prize, 
 but none of these ever returned, so the Emperor 
 was in despair. One day his Vizier said to him : 
 " Ah, if Kraljevitch Marko were only here he would 
 be the man to overcome Moossa Kesseyiya." Then 
 the Emperor looked sadly at him and said : " Speak 
 to me not of Marko, for it is three years since I threw 
 him into prison, and the doors have not been opened, 
 so that he must be dead/' But the Vizier went 
 down and opened the doors of the prison and brought 
 out the Kraljevitch Marko and took him to the 
 Emperor. 
 
 And Marko's hair had grown so long that half of it 
 served as a mattress and the other half for clothing ; 
 his nails were so long that he could plough with 
 them, and his face was like a black stone. 
 
 The Emperor said : " Then thou art still alive, 
 Marko/' And he replied : " Barely living, yet still 
 alive, O Emperor/' Then the Emperor asked him : 
 " If I gave you all my treasure could you go down 
 to the sea and overcome this Moossa ? " And Marko 
 answered : 
 
 ' By my God, I could not do it now, O Emperor, 
 for the dampness of the prison has eaten into my 
 bones and I can scarcely see. But place me in a 
 good inn that is dry and give me good mutton and 
 white bread and wine to drink, and when I am rested 
 and fed then will I fight with Moossa/' 
 
 E 6 5 
 
TALES OF SERBIAN LIFE 
 
 So the Emperor sent for three men, one to shave 
 him, one to wash him, and one to cut his nails. Then 
 he put him in a good inn and gave him all that he 
 asked for, and for the space of three months Marko 
 stayed there, daily growing stronger. At last the 
 Emperor sent for him to ask if he were strong enough 
 to fight Moossa. Marko desired the Emperor to 
 have a small piece of dry wood brought to him, and 
 when it was brought he took it in his hand and 
 pressed it so that it broke in little pieces, yet not a 
 drop of water came from it. 
 
 " By that I see/' said Marko, " that not yet is it 
 time for me to venture on that fight/' 
 
 So he returned to his inn and remai-ned there for 
 the space of another month, eating and drinking 
 till he felt still stronger. Once more he came into 
 the presence of the Emperor, and asked for the dry 
 stick to be brought, and this time, as he squeezed 
 it in his hand, two drops of water came from its 
 dryness. " And now/' said Marko, " can I venture 
 on that duel/' So he went to the swordsman Novak, 
 and said : 
 
 " O Novak, thou maker of swords, make me a 
 sword which shall have no equal in the whole world/' 
 
 And after he had spent four more days in his inn 
 drinking red wine he went again to the swordsmith's 
 workshop and Novak gave him his sword. 
 
 ""Is it good? " asked Marko. 
 
 "Here is the sword and there the anvil; thou 
 canst try of what quality is thy sword," answered 
 the smith. And when Marko struck the anvil with 
 the sword, behold, it cleft the mass of iron in two. 
 66 
 
Here is the sword and there the anvil " 
 
 WILLIAM SEWELI. 
 
 66 
 
THE HOUSE AT NOVO SELO 
 
 " O swordsmith Novak, hast ever made a better 
 sword ? " cried Marko. 
 
 " Once only," said the smith, " did I make a better 
 sword, but it was for a better warrior, for before 
 Moossa left for the sea-coast as a rebel I made him 
 a sword with which he cut through the anvil easily, 
 not sparing the oak-tree on which it struck." This 
 angered Marko, who mounted his magic horse and 
 rode to the sea-coast, where he wandered, asking 
 all the time where he should find Moossa, till one 
 morning he saw the man himself, sitting on his 
 black horse with crossed legs and throwing his heavy 
 mace high into the air, then catching it in his white 
 hands. 
 
 As the two men met Marko began : 
 
 " O Moossa, move aside that I may pass along 
 the path. Either move aside or pay thy respects to 
 me/' 
 
 And Moossa replied : " Pass on quietly, O Marko, 
 for I would not start a quarrel. And let us instead 
 dismount from our horses and drink wine together. 
 For as for thy demand that I should move aside to 
 let thee pass, know well that that I will never do ! 
 I know full well that thy mother was a queen and 
 that thou wast born in a great castle and cradled on 
 silken cushions, that thou wast clothed in pure 
 soft silk and girdled with golden thread while thy 
 mother fed thee on honey and sugar. 
 
 " I was the child of a fierce Albanian shepherdess, 
 and sheep were my playmates. There was nothing 
 to clothe me but the coarse black tartan, and a 
 blackberry briar was my girdle. My mother raised 
 
TALES OF SERBIAN LIFE 
 
 me by feeding me only on oats, yet she made me 
 vow that before no one and never should I move 
 away or aside. Certainly I will not move aside to 
 let thee pass ! " 
 
 When Marko heard these bold words he threw 
 his lance, aiming at Moossa's breast ; but Moossa, 
 seated on his mare, caught it and threw it high above 
 his head. Then Moossa took his battle-lance to 
 hurl at Marko, but Marko broke it into three pieces 
 on his mace. Then they drew their swords and 
 rushed at one another. Marko gathered his strength 
 to strike Moossa, but Moossa placed his mace as a 
 shield and the sword of Marko shivered and broke, 
 while he also placed his mace as a shield and the 
 sword of Moossa broke near the hilt. Then they 
 struck wildly with their maces till they broke them 
 and threw them on the grass as useless weapons. 
 They both sprang from their horses then and caught 
 each other and wrestled all the morning, for they 
 were real heroes. Neither could bring the other to 
 the earth, and white foam came on Moossa's lips, 
 but the foam on the lips of Marko was tinged with 
 blood. 
 
 Moossa said : " Either throw me down, Marko, 
 or let me throw you down." So Marko tried his 
 hardest, but he could not throw Moossa to the 
 ground ; yet when Moossa lifted Marko he threw 
 him down on the green grass and knelt on his breast. 
 Then Marko, the Prince, cried out sadly : 
 
 " Ah, where art thou to-day, my sister in God, 
 my fairy sister ? Where art thou to-day ? Was 
 thine oath false when thou swore to me that when- 
 68 
 
THE HOUSE AT NOVO SELO 
 
 ever I was in danger thou wouldst be near to help 
 me-? " 
 
 And from the clouds the Fairy answered : " Why, 
 brother in God Kraljevitch Marko, hast thou for- 
 gotten so quickly my warning never to start to quarrel 
 on a Sunday ? And hast thou forgotten thy secret 
 snakes ? " 
 
 Moossa turned his head to listen to the Fairy's 
 voice, and as he did so Marko drew out his sharp knife 
 and killed him. And when Marko looked, behold, 
 Moossa had three hearts, and on the third a snake was 
 sleeping. When the snake awoke she said to Marko : 
 
 " Praise God, O Kraljevitch Marko, that I was not 
 awake when Moossa was alive, because then three 
 hundred evils would have befallen thee." 
 
 When Marko saw this and heard the snake speak 
 he wept, and the tears ran down his face, for, deeply 
 grieving, he said : " Alas and alas to me ! May the 
 gracious God forgive me that I killed a far better 
 knight than I am/' And cutting off the head of 
 Moossa, he threw it into the oats bag of Sharats and 
 rode with it to white Stamboul. And when he was 
 brought before the Emperor he threw down the 
 head of Moossa at his feet, and when the Emperor, 
 frightened, sprang up, Marko said only : " Fear 
 not, my Lord the Emperor ! If from the dead head 
 of Moossa thou springest up in a fright, what wouldst 
 thou have done if thou hadst met him in the days 
 when he still lived ? " 
 
 And that is the end of the story of the fight 
 between Moossa the Quarrelsome and Marko the 
 
 69 
 
TALES OF SERBIAN LIFE 
 
 King's son, as Dobrilla Yankovitch told it to her 
 children as they sat round the hearth and fed its 
 red blaze with the logs that Marko cut, who was 
 not a king's son, but only a sleepy little peasant 
 boy. 
 
 70 
 
CHAPTER III : CHRISTMAS AT 
 NOVO SELO 
 
 AND so the days went on and autumn passed 
 into early winter. In Serbia the forest 
 trees hold their leaves late, and even when 
 November came and the snow lay white on the 
 maize-fields, still a few slopes remained bright and 
 cheery with the coloured leaves. But how cold and 
 clear was the air, and what chilly work it was wash- 
 ing the clothes in the little stream ! Even the few 
 pailfuls of heated water did not make washing-day 
 a pleasant one, and Maika and Ivanka used to come 
 back with reddened fingers and pinched toes from 
 the banks of the stream. When Marko took the 
 oxen and sledge up to the woods for fuel he had to 
 dance and blow on his mittened fingers to keep a 
 little warmth and feeling in them. Trudging along 
 by the side of the slow-moving oxen was far too 
 chilly work those days. 
 
 Although the harvest had all been garnered in, 
 the children yet found plenty of work to do, dragging 
 brushwood under cover, carrying piles of maize 
 stalks for the cattle, and helping Maika to put the 
 neglected vineyard in order. What busy days they 
 had then ! For only six months of neglect had 
 caused the brambles to twine themselves everywhere 
 among the vines, choking their growth and spoiling 
 any young and vigorous vine branch which was 
 doing its best to struggle into freedom. Maika 
 especially mourned over the neglected vine terraces, 
 for not only did they remind her of her childhood's 
 
TALES OF SERBIAN LIFE 
 
 home near the Danube, where such beautiful grapes 
 grow on every hill-side, but also her husband, big 
 Marko the Silent, had made the terraces and planted 
 the young vines when first they came to Novo Selo 
 to begin their married life. Ivanka shared her love 
 for the work, but Marko liked better to be wood- 
 cutter or swineherd ; still he took his part in the 
 digging all the same. 
 
 One morning they had been working long and hard, 
 digging deeply round the roots of the vines, Maika, 
 Marko, and Ivanka all bending over their spades, 
 and Drago tugging away at the brambles. 
 
 Presently there would be a big bonfire of the 
 weeds, and the children looked forward to making 
 that, for they loved a bonfire as children do all over 
 the world. Marko straightened his back and stood 
 leaning on his spade. 
 
 " Bozhe! but we have worked to-day/' he said. 
 " See, Maika, how far the ground is clear. Are 
 we not three famous workmen, thou and Ivanka 
 and I ? " 
 
 " Not to mention Drago," said Dobrilla Yanko- 
 vitch, stopping too for a moment to rest her tired 
 arms, which ached from the weight of the heavy spade 
 and her vigorous exertions of the past three hours. 
 ' Yet who wishes to rest when he gets old ought 
 to work while he is young. Remember that, my 
 Marko, and do not be measuring every mattockful 
 of earth that thou diggest as if it were fine gold ! ''' 
 
 Marko grinned and looked down the slope. " Yet 
 all the same I see very well that thy little Marko is a 
 famous digger, and in another hour thou shalt see 
 72 
 
THE HOUSE AT NOVO SELO 
 
 how the fallen terraces are being built up by the help 
 of his strong right arm." 
 
 rr Good, very good," said Ivanka, " but for my 
 part I should think, Marko, that more work would 
 be done if less noise were made. I have not been 
 able to hear even the stream running over the stones 
 all the morning for the noise of thy chattering/' 
 
 " ' Woe to the legs under a foolish head/ " cried 
 Marko, quoting a Serbian proverb. " ' Women are 
 there to talk and men to work/ " 
 
 " That is as may be," retorted Ivanka, " but the 
 people who made the sayings were all men, who did 
 not know my mother and me, or they would never 
 have said such foolishness. All the world knows that 
 ' Where there is no wife there is no home/ " 
 
 " But thou art not a wife ! " cried Marko, " only 
 a young and ignorant girl. And anyway a girl can 
 never keep a secret only the ones she knows nothing 
 about ! " 
 
 " I am not a wife, but my mother is one," replied 
 Ivanka, with dignity ; " and as for keeping secrets, 
 maybe I can keep them better than thou if they 
 are worth keeping. -And I can dig as long and as 
 deep as any boy ! ' 
 
 There is a Serbian proverb which says that " Where 
 big bells ring the little bells are not heard," and Maika 
 thought the time had come to stop this squabbling, 
 so she came up the slope and started working nearer 
 the two children, and proposed that she should tell 
 them a story while they rested for a moment. 
 
 " And indeed," she said, " you have both been 
 good labourers to-day, and there is time and enough 
 
 73 
 
TALES OF SERBIAN LIFE 
 
 to work again when those backs shall ache a little 
 less. So Ivanka shall bring Chedda from the door- 
 way, where I see him rolling in the earth, the rascal, 
 all in his clean gown too, and she shall bring with 
 her a morsel of cheese and a slice of bread for each. 
 Then shall we eat together and afterward work. I 
 too am more than a little weary/' 
 
 Ivanka trotted down the hill very readily, and 
 soon came -back with Chedda riding pick-a-back, 
 and in her hands a basket of food. Then they all 
 sat peaceably down on a heap of dry rubbish. And 
 after they had eaten, Maika told the third of the three 
 stories the children had once clamoured for, and that 
 was the story of how Marko the Prince paid the 
 Bride Tax. 
 
 HOW MARKO KRALJEVITCH PAID THE 
 BRIDE TAX 
 
 One morning early, Marko the King's son was 
 riding down the plain of Kossovo, and when he 
 arrived at the stream of Servani he met there a 
 maid of Kossovo, whom he greeted courteously, 
 wishing her God's help. The maid bowed deeply, 
 almost touching the ground before him. " Mayst 
 thou be of good health too, O Unknown Knight." 
 Marko then began to talk to her. 
 
 " Dear sister, Maid of Kossovo, thou art hand- 
 some and young, with fine brave glance and bright 
 eyes : what is the cause that thou, still so young, 
 hast lost thy happiness ? Have thy parents crossed 
 thee, or thy lover proved untrue ? ' 
 
 74 
 
THE HOUSE AT NOVO SELO 
 
 And the maid answered him and told him that 
 the cause of her unhappiness was the terrible Black 
 Negro who had come from over the sea nine years 
 before and made himself Lord of Kossovo. " And," 
 she said, " he is a cruel tyrant who has made all 
 sorts of tyrannies over the people, who must supply 
 him with food and drink, and be killed if they refuse. 
 And he has made a wedding tax, so that a bride 
 must pay thirty ducats of gold and a bridegroom 
 forty before they may marry. My father is dead 
 and my brothers are poor and my lover and I can 
 never be happy because we have not sufficient 
 money, nor can we gain enough to satisfy the Negro. 
 And now I am to be sold to him as a slave, and I am 
 thinking whether I shall throw myself into the river 
 ere it shall be. I will do anything rather than serve 
 such a cruel master/' 
 
 And Marko said to her : " Do not grieve so, dear 
 sister, Maid of Kossovo, and think not of so sad a 
 fate as that. Only tell me where is the castle of 
 the Black Negro, and I will go and talk a little with 
 him." 
 
 Then the Maid of Kossovo had pity for Marko 
 and implored him not to go, for the Negro would 
 certainly kill him. 
 
 " Maybe/' she said, " thou art the only son of thy 
 mother what would she do without thee if thou 
 wert to be slain ? ' 
 
 Then Marko took thirty gold pieces from his 
 pocket and gave them to the maid, saying : rr Here 
 is thy marriage money, but it will never be needed 
 for wedding tax, only for dowry, for I am minded 
 
 75 
 
TALES OF SERBIAN LIFE 
 
 to kill the Negro. But first I will go and pay the 
 wedding tax for thee. Perchance the Negro will 
 not wish to kill me if I bring him money ! ' 
 
 Then the Maid of Kossovo showed him in the 
 distance a flagstaff with a flag. " There is the Black 
 Negro. He has no castle, but lives under a tent. 
 Round that tent is a green field, and on the fence 
 are the heads of seventy bridegrooms from the Plains 
 of Kossovo whom the Negro has slain. He has 
 forty servants who are his body-guard. 
 
 Then Marko kissed the maid good-bye, and she 
 wept, for she feared he was going to his death. But 
 Marko rode across the plains. And he was angry 
 that such a tyrant should kill his people. Sharats 
 was angry too, and from his iron shoes fire was 
 streaming, while from his nostrils a blue flame 
 leapt. 
 
 And his master said to himself as he rode and 
 saw the heads round the courtyard : " To-day, my 
 brothers, I will avenge you, or lose my own life," 
 and he went straight toward the tent. 
 
 The forty servants saw him coming and went to 
 their master, saying : " Lord Negro from Across 
 the Sea, here is a strange knight coming toward us 
 on a piebald horse, an angry horse, from the shoes 
 of which a lively fire is streaming and from the 
 nostrils of which a blue flame leaps. He is coming 
 to attack us. Shall we strike ? ' But the Negro 
 in his pride thought that no one could be so bold 
 as to do that, and he told them it was only a bride- 
 groom coming to pay the wedding tax. 
 
 "So go out from the courtyard and receive him 
 
" What is the cause that thou, still so young, hast 
 lost thy happiness ? " 
 
 WILLIAM SEWELL 
 
 7 6 
 
THE HOUSE AT NOVO SELO 
 
 kindly ; bow your heads humbly before him and 
 help him to dismount ; take in charge his horse and 
 arms and bring him here to me in my tent. For I 
 do not want his gold, but I will take his head/' 
 
 Yet when the guards saw Marko coming his fierce 
 looks terrified them so that they dared not go out 
 to meet him, and hid themselves behind their 
 master's tent, covering their swords with their cloaks 
 so that Marko could not see they were armed. 
 
 Marko entered the courtyard alone and dis- 
 mounted, saying to Sharats : " Walk about the 
 courtyard, my beloved magic horse, but go not too 
 far from the entrance of the tent, lest I need thee/' 
 Then he entered the tent of the Black Negro. 
 
 The Negro was sitting there drinking wine, and he 
 asked Marko to sit and drink with him and tell him 
 why he had come. Marko answered that he had 
 no time to drink, for he had left the wedding guests 
 upon the road, he coming alone to pay the v/edding 
 tax, that he might lead the bride safely home. 
 " But first tell me," he said, " how much is the 
 wedding tax ? ' The Negro replied : " Thou 
 knowest well how much it is. For the bride thirty 
 pieces of gold and for the bridegroom forty. Yet 
 as thou art a knight it is only just that thou shouldst 
 pay a hundred ducats/' 
 
 Marko threw three ducats on the table and said : 
 ' I have no more to give thee, but wait till I return 
 from the bride's home : I will get there many presents, 
 all of which I will bring to thee/' 
 
 At this the Negro jumped up in terrible anger. 
 " Thou jestest with me thou dost laugh at me ! " 
 
 77 
 
TALES OF SERBIAN LIFE 
 
 And with his mace he struck Marko three times. 
 The Prince only laughed loudly. " Is that a blow 
 in earnest or art thou joking ? ' Again the Negro 
 screamed : " I do not joke ! I strike in earnest ! ' 
 
 " I thought thou wast only playing and did 
 not strike in earnest/' answered Marko. " But as 
 thou sayest thou art in earnest, I also have a mace, 
 know, O Negro ! And I will strike thee as many 
 times as thou hast struck me." 
 
 Marko then raised his mace, and his first blow 
 killed the Black Negro. Then he slew and cut off 
 the heads of all the guards save four, whom he saved 
 only that they might truly tell what had taken place. 
 He took down the heads of the seventy bridegrooms 
 and buried them ; then he sent the four guards in 
 all directions through the plain of Kossovo to 
 announce as heralds his words : ' Wherever there 
 is a young girl, let her marry while she is young, and 
 wherever there is a young man let him look for a 
 wife and then marry. Henceforth there is no longer 
 a wedding tax. Marko has paid that tax for all 
 and for ever ! ' J 
 
 And now all the people, both old and young, 
 cried out : " May God bless the Royal Prince Marko, 
 who has delivered our country from the cruel tyrant ! 
 May his soul and his body find forgiveness in God ! ' J 
 
 Maika's voice ceased and she looked round smiling 
 on the listening children. '-' That is a fine tale/' 
 said Marko, " but I wish I had been there to see him 
 slay the tyrant/' 
 
 " And how glad I am that the poor people need 
 
THE HOUSE AT NOVO SELO 
 
 pay no more the wicked tax ! " said Ivanka eagerly, 
 and she and Marko went on digging contentedly 
 side by side and discussing the Maid of Kossovo, 
 quite forgetting their little quarrel of an hour before. 
 
 Dobrilla Yankovitch only smiled a little as she 
 went on with her work, for she was a very wise 
 mother. 
 
 They worked for many days at the vineyard, for 
 the heavy rains of October had washed much of the 
 earth down and they were obliged to bank it up again 
 and carry many loads of fresh soil to fill the water- 
 holes. The soil was heavy clay, and it was necessary 
 also to bring good manure to work in with it and 
 make it lighter. Still they worked with a will, and 
 little by little they got the once neglected, deserted- 
 looking vineyard into good order, and then they were 
 free to do some of the other work which had been 
 left undone during this time. Some duties there 
 were, of course, which had to be seen to every day : 
 cows and pigs, goats and hens, must be fed at the 
 proper times, the cows and goats milked, and the eggs 
 brought in from the nests. 
 
 Dobrilla's house was always neat and tidy, 
 although it was so small, and four young children 
 need many meals, which must be prepared even 
 though fifty vineyards want digging. Then there 
 were stockings to knit and clothes to make and 
 mend, spinning and weaving, baking and brewing 
 to be done why, there was never a second in which 
 Maika's hands were unemployed ; and her head was 
 always in requisition as well as her hands, for one 
 or other of the three elder children was continually 
 
 79 
 
TALES OF SERBIAN LIFE 
 
 running to her with a question or a difficulty. Marko 
 brought the wood down from the forests and cut 
 the logs, he herded the cows and fed the pigs, mended 
 the gaps in the fences and repaired the thatched 
 roof when it leaked, while little Ivanka helped her 
 mother to knit and sew, took care of Chedda, and 
 fed the chickens. 
 
 Drago was just a little fat mischief, but he could 
 be very useful all the same, and he followed Ivanka 
 everywhere like a shadow. It was really a very 
 happy household, in spite of hard work and little 
 money. But one day trouble came to Novo Selo. 
 For little Chedda was taken ill. He lay fretful in 
 his mother's arms, heavy and feverish, with hot hands 
 and a sore throat. It was so unlike rosy, laughing 
 Chedda to lie still and weary against his mother's 
 breast that the other children stood looking at him 
 with puzzled faces. Dobrilla Yankovitch tried all 
 the simple remedies she knew, but nothing seemed 
 to ease him, and even when he fell into a heavy sleep 
 he started up from time to time, beating his little 
 hands against his mother as though he were choking. 
 All that night Dobrilla walked about with him in 
 her arms, singing softly to him and trying to soothe 
 him. In the morning she could see that he was no 
 better, but rather worse, for now he could not even 
 swallow the clear cold water she tried to make him 
 drink, and though he shivered in her arms as if he 
 were cold, yet his skin was burning hot and so was 
 the little head. And now a fresh anxiety came upon 
 poor Maika, for Drago too became unwell, and lay 
 in his bed hot and restless. He too would not eat, 
 80 
 
THE HOUSE AT NOVO SELO 
 
 and said his throat pained him. " Boli mi gousha 
 boli, boli ! " l he kept crying continually, till Dobrilla 
 could not think what to do. These children of hers 
 were so dear to her, all she had now her man was 
 gone, and she was so unused to sickness. They had 
 always been so strong and healthy, and never before 
 had she known one of them to ail anything, save 
 perhaps from a small pain in the stomach, from eating 
 too many unripe plums or an unwisely big supper of 
 roast pork ! So illness like this left poor Maika utterly 
 bewildered, and as she sat on the big bed, holding 
 Chedda on her arm and trying to comfort Drago, 
 she felt almost in despair. 
 
 And it was Marko who first made the suggestion 
 which saved little Chedda. He had been thinking 
 hard all the morning as he drew water from the well, 
 and chopped the sticks and made the fire. 
 
 " My mother," he said, with his little air of gravity, 
 " the baby brother is very sick ; maybe he will die 
 unless we can bring help soon. Suppose that thou 
 and I took him to the English doctors in Banja. 
 We could go quite well, thou in the kola, with Chedda 
 and Drago very warm in blankets beside thee ; 
 and perhaps the doctors there would know what to 
 do. Thou knowest how they saved the lives of so 
 many when the typhus came." 
 
 Maika's eyes were full of tears as they gazed down 
 at her baby boy, and she crossed herself as she looked 
 up to the holy picture on the wall, praying that 
 St John, who was the patron saint of the little 
 household, would make Chedda strong again. 
 
 1 " My throat hurts me it hurts, it hurts ! " 
 F 8l 
 
TALES OF SERBIAN LIFE 
 
 11 That is all well/' said Marko bluntly, " but while 
 we pray perhaps Chedda dies. / think St John will 
 be better pleased if we place Chedda in the kola 
 and pray to him as we go along. It will do as well, 
 I think. Say that we may go, Maika, and I will run 
 and make ready the bullocks and the kola" 
 
 Maika looked again at Chedda, then at Drago. 
 
 " My son Marko, we will go/' she said. " Thou 
 and I will go together, for oh, I am distracted that 
 my littlest one should suffer so ! Never shall his 
 mother hold back from anything that will aid him, 
 and I know the English doctors in Ban] a are kind 
 and clever. We will go now to them and ask them 
 to help us." 
 
 Marko did not wait for any more, but rushed out 
 of the house and yoked the oxen. Ivanka piled 
 great armfuls of maize stalks into the kola to make 
 a soft bed for Drago to lie on, then she spread a 
 blanket over them, and Maika came presently out 
 of the house carrying Drago muffled in his sheepskin 
 coat and a big blanket over that. Ivanka pulled 
 his fur cap well over his ears and he nestled down 
 among the warmth with a little shiver. Maika went 
 into the house again and came back carrying Chedda, 
 wrapped up like a small mummy against the chill 
 wind. She laid him down next to Drago so that the 
 wooden sides of the cart would protect him some- 
 what from the cold, heaping more coverings on both 
 of them till little of them could be seen. 
 
 Ivanka watched them out of the gate. Her 
 brown eyes were very big and round and she was 
 rather afraid of crying, but she was a wise little soul 
 82 
 
THE HOUSE AT NOVO SELO 
 
 and she knew that Marko had thought of the best 
 possible thing to do, and in the meantime she would 
 take care to keep the house warm for the time when 
 they should return from Ban] a. She knew too that 
 if you are not very happy it is a good plan to be as 
 busy as possible ; so she did everything she could 
 imagine to fill up the time. 
 
 To Dobrilla the road to Ban] a seemed endless, 
 though Marko did his best to goad the bullocks into 
 a quicker pace than their usual slow walk. But at 
 last they reached the long white Barrake, and the 
 oxen were tethered near by, while Dobrilla carried 
 Chedda and Marko took Drago's hand and they 
 went toward the big tent where the out-patients 
 were seen. 
 
 There was a little crowd of waiting peasants, men 
 and women and a few children, but the morning was 
 well advanced so that the greater number of patients 
 had been seen. They were talking in low voices 
 among themselves, and from time to time the in- 
 terpreter would come to the door and fetch another 
 one inside the tent. Marko and his mother stood 
 patiently waiting for their turn. It was very cold, 
 and Marko tried to keep the wind from Drago as far 
 as possible by standing behind him with his arms 
 on the smaller boy's shoulders. But how long the 
 waiting time seemed, and for Maika, with Chedda 
 lying more and more heavily in her arms, it was 
 almost endless. Her big eyes were full of weary 
 patience, and as she stood by the tent holding the 
 child she looked like some sorrowful Madonna. 
 
 But at last their turn came, and in answer to 
 
 83 
 
TALES OF SERBIAN LIFE 
 
 the interpreter's beckoning finger they moved inside 
 the warm tent. In front of them stood a tall English 
 nurse with a kind, pleasant face and grey hair under 
 her white cap. 
 
 " Find out what is the matter with this little man 
 first/' she said, as she looked first at the baby then 
 at Drago with her keen grey eyes. And then Maika 
 poured her story into the interpreter's ear. 
 
 " Do not tremble so, mother," he said reassuringly 
 to her. " I will tell the Sister what thou sayest 
 and soon the doctor will come to look at thy little 
 one. Do not be afraid ; he shall quickly be made 
 well if God wills. And this other one is he ill 
 too ? " 
 
 Marko gently pushed Drago forward and told the 
 interpreter about the pain in his throat and the 
 fever, for Maika was trembling so that she could 
 scarcely speak. The Englishwoman took Chedda 
 from her very gently, and turned, holding him in 
 her arms, toward the big doctor, who came from 
 the back of the tent. 
 
 " Here are the last patients for this morning, Dr 
 Gordon," she said ; " and the baby is rather bad, 
 poor little fellow. They should have brought him 
 sooner." 
 
 Dr Gordon looked at Chedda's throat and asked 
 many questions about him ; then he turned to the 
 Sister. "Dip.," he said shortly, " and he's about as 
 bad as he can be. Of course he'll have to come in 
 at once. Will you give him to the mother and tell 
 them to get everything ready for me at once. I'll 
 do what I can for him now." And then he turned 
 
THE HOUSE AT NOVO SELO 
 
 to Marko. " Why, it's Sister Bennett's pet family ! " 
 he exclaimed, and taking Drago with him to the light 
 he looked at him more closely. 
 
 " Yes, he's got it too, but more mildly. Of 
 course, bringing them out in this weather would have 
 finished any English kiddies as bad as these, but 
 being Serbs luckily it hasn't put the tin lid on." 
 
 Then he turned to the interpreter. 
 
 " I want you to tell the mother that she must leave 
 both the children in the hospital with us," he said. 
 ' Tell her they will be happy enough, but they're 
 both far too bad to go home. And tell her that 
 we're going to put a little silver tube in the baby's 
 throat so that he can breathe till he's better will 
 you ? Tell her it won't hurt him that we'll make 
 him quite comfy. And be as quick as you can, 
 will you because there's no time to lose if we're 
 going to pull this youngster through/' And after 
 a look at Marko's throat he walked toward the 
 back of the tent, while the interpreter explained to 
 Dobrilla Yankovitch what the doctor had said in his 
 funny slangy English. Poor Dobrilla did not know 
 how to bear the thought of leaving both her children 
 behind her, but the interpreter was very kind and 
 patient and explained so carefully that they would 
 do everything in their power to help poor wee Chedda 
 that presently she gave her sons into the kind arms 
 of Sister Douglas with a gentle air of dignity and 
 sorrow which went straight to the Sister's heart, 
 and went out of the tent with Marko, leaving a very 
 puzzled but quite contented Drago for he was a 
 philosophical little man, and after Marko had told 
 
 85 
 
TALES OF SERBIAN LIFE 
 
 him that he was to be a brave ' hero ' and not to 
 cry because he was being left alone in the English 
 hospital, he gulped down a sob and trotted away, 
 clinging to the apron of the cheerful Sister. As for 
 Chedda, he was too ill just then to take much notice 
 of anyone. 
 
 The interpreter had made Dobrilla Yankovitch 
 understand that the other two children might have 
 the sickness too if they were allowed to be with 
 Drago and Chedda, and that was another considera- 
 tion which reconciled her to leaving them behind. 
 But how quiet the house seemed without the two 
 littlest ones ! 
 
 Fifty times in the day Maika would expect to 
 feel the little tugs at her skirts which meant that 
 Chedda had something very important to tell her 
 in his baby language, and Ivanka would look round 
 over her shoulder as if she expected to see her 
 faithful shadow trotting at her heels. But they were 
 tucked up in their beds in the white hospital, and 
 every day Marko or his mother would tramp the 
 miles into Ban] a for news of them ; and soon the 
 news was good, so that the smiles came back to 
 Marko's solemn brown face, and the Maika's eyes, 
 though they still looked wistful, were no longer so 
 sad now that she knew that some day soon her little 
 sons would come back to her. And she would send 
 her choicest gifts to the big kindly doctor and to the 
 Sisters nuts and apples, kaimak and eggs, anything 
 that she could find to show her gratitude. Further- 
 more, neither Ivanka nor Marko fell ill, so that was 
 another great load off Maika's mind. All the same 
 86 
 
THE HOUSE AT NOVO SELO 
 
 the weeks went much more slowly than when they 
 were all together ; but happily there was much to 
 do in them, else they would have seemed longer 
 still. 
 
 There were not many people in Banja this winter, 
 for the cold had set in early and the frost was severe. 
 All the roads were frozen hard, with deep ruts in 
 many places where in October had been thick mud. 
 The snow lay thickly on the mountains, and twice 
 the little house among the orchards was almost 
 hidden by the great drifts which came down upon it. 
 
 Then one of their best cows died, so that altogether 
 the winter had not opened well for them ; but 
 Maika looked forward to the new year, and said that 
 she complained of nothing so long as she had her 
 children with her. 
 
 One morning Ivanka was in the orchard looking 
 over to the path which led from Banja, and suddenly, 
 shading her eyes with her hand, she called out to 
 her mother, who was in the house : " Oh, Maika, 
 here are two of the English Sisters coming, and I 
 believe they are coming here to the house/' 
 
 She was wildly excited, and, followed by Marko, 
 ran down the orchard and on to the frosty track. 
 Indeed it was none other than the 'Mali Sestra/ 
 and another with her whom they did not know. 
 Ivanka ran forward and kissed their hands, and 
 Marko smiled shyly as he said " Dobar dan." 
 
 " I have come to see your mother/' the ' Mali 
 Sestra ' said, for she had got along famously with 
 her Serbian by this time. " Will you take me to 
 her ? And how is Ivanka ? " she continued, smiling 
 
TALES OF SERBIAN LIFE 
 
 very sweetly at the little girl. " What a pretty 
 handkerchief you are wearing to-day! " 
 
 Ivanka beamed with pride. This really was a 
 great occasion, and she led the way very happily, 
 chattering away like a magpie, and quite forgetting 
 that the English lady could not understand her when 
 she talked so fast. 
 
 Dobrilla Yankovitch met them on the threshold 
 of her house. " Welcome, gracious lady," she said, 
 in her gentle way. " This is a happy day for my 
 house. Will you enter and sit near my hearth ? ' 
 
 " Willingly," answered the ' Little Sister/ " How 
 cold it is, but what a beautiful fire ! " 
 
 " And my little sons are they better to-day ? " 
 inquired Maika, for they were never far from her 
 thoughts. 
 
 " Much better, and soon they will be here with 
 you. Our Christmas comes next week, and yours 
 is thirteen days later than that, for your calendar 
 is not the same as ours," said the Sister. " And 
 by the time your Christmas Day dawns both your 
 children will be with you again, and well, quite well." 
 
 " May the saints in heaven preserve thee ! " said 
 Dobrilla, her face full of thankfulness. 
 
 The other English Sister did not talk very much, 
 for she could only speak a few words of Serbian, but 
 she smiled at Marko and he entertained her by 
 airing the few English words he had picked up at 
 the hospital. He said them very prettily, in a 
 quaint, precise way, and the two Sisters laughed 
 very much, so Marko was proud of his efforts to 
 amuse them. 
 
THE HOUSE AT NOVO SELO 
 
 In a few minutes Maika disappeared into the 
 inner room, where to-day the stove was lit as it 
 was so cold ; then, returning, she invited them in 
 to sit till coffee should be ready. Both the English 
 women were enchanted by the big loom in the corner, 
 on which a piece of coarse linen was stretched, and 
 nothing would satisfy them but that Maika should 
 sit down in front of it and show them how she 
 wove. Maika was secretly rather pleased at being 
 asked to do this, so she took her place at the loom 
 and began to work it. The English Sisters stood 
 fascinated before it, watching the piece of linen grow 
 under her hands ; and Maika, when she saw how 
 interested they really were, brought out some fine 
 linen that she had spun and woven a little time ago, 
 from the big oak coffer where the clothes for festival 
 days were kept. So with one thing and another 
 the time passed very quickly, and when they had 
 finished examining her treasures the door opened 
 and Ivanka came in bearing the tray with the coffee- 
 cups very carefully in her hand. 
 
 " Izvolite, Sestra," she said, carrying the tray first 
 to the ' Mali Sestra/ as she had known her longer ; 
 then she stopped before the other Sister, with her 
 pretty voice repeating the words. Maika then 
 slipped away while they were drinking their coffee 
 (and what special pains Ivanka had taken to make 
 that coffee good !), and presently came back with 
 her face beaming with smiles and a big bowl of hot 
 milk in her hands. Drawing up the little table, 
 she spread a coarse blue cloth on it, then brought 
 in plates and spoons, and, though the Sisters pro- 
 
TALES OF SERBIAN LIFE 
 
 tested, there came in now new hot maize cakes, fresh 
 from the oven, creamy kaimak, and little slices of 
 dried pork. And of course Dobrilla would have 
 thought it very rude if they had refused to eat her 
 food, so though the ' Little Sister ' and her friend were 
 not a bit hungry they just had to pretend they were 
 and eat as much as possible, because they knew that 
 the bigger appetites they had the more delighted 
 would Dobrilla Yankovitch and her children be. 
 
 That was a day not to be forgotten, and when at 
 last the English Sisters got up, protesting that they 
 had work to do and must hurry back to the hospital, 
 they went out of the house leaving real friends 
 behind them. All the three, Maika and her children, 
 went down the orchard with them and across the 
 maize-field, and then they said ' Good-bye/ with 
 many invitations to come again. 
 
 " And soon you will be able to come and fetch 
 Chedda and Drago," cried the ' Little Sister/ as she 
 went down the twisty path which was the shortest 
 way to Banja. 
 
 " Good-bye, . and come again to see us," cried the 
 children, as they stood waving their hands to the 
 Sisters. 
 
 " Yes, we will come again soon/' they said. " Only 
 first you must bring the children home again." 
 
 In a few days, surely enough, Marko once more 
 yoked the oxen and the kola started on its creaking 
 way. But how different a journey was this one from 
 the last ! Then all had been sadness and anxiety, 
 but this day was full of happiness even the sun 
 seemed to shine more brightly on the snow-covered 
 90 
 
THE HOUSE AT NOVO SELO 
 
 hills and the winding paths down the slopes. When 
 they reached the gate of the hospital they went up 
 to the white door which led on to the long balcony, 
 and there was Chedda playing with a ball and Drago 
 watching two of the soldier orderlies who helped the 
 Sisters in their work. What a cry the children gave 
 as they saw dear Maika and Marko coming toward 
 them ! Maika took them both up in her arms at 
 once and hugged them as if they had been little 
 babies, crushing Chedda's face against her, and 
 letting Drago almost choke her, so tightly did he 
 wind his arms round her neck. 
 
 Out came Sister Douglas to see what all the noise 
 was about, and soon the big doctor walked along 
 the balcony with his cheery " Kako ste, GospodjaP 1 
 Kako ste, Marko ? " which was about as much Serbian 
 as he ever learnt. Dobrilla Yankovitch took his hand 
 in hers as she came near him, and kissed it gratefully, 
 for she knew that but for him there might have 
 been no little Chedda to come back to make glad 
 the home at Novo Selo, and she thanked him in her 
 pretty shy way until the big doctor looked rather 
 as if he would like to run away. But he stood there 
 and let Maika have her say out almost as if he 
 guessed it was a comfort to her. 
 
 " And tell her it's all right and we were very g;lad 
 to have the little chap/' he said, when at last he 
 could get his hand free and stick it in its usual place, 
 his trousers pocket. " It's your turn now, Sister," 
 this with a delighted grin as Sister Douglas found 
 her hand being kissed by Maika and Marko in turn. 
 
 1 " How are you, madam ?" 
 
 91 
 
TALES OF SERBIAN LIFE 
 
 Then Maika straightened herself to her full height, 
 and standing so she was nearly as tall as the big 
 doctor, and with a hand on her big boy's shoulder 
 and an arm round Drago, she blessed the hospital 
 and those who worked in it, and made the English 
 people feel very glad and yet very humble at the 
 same time. 
 
 What a joyful drive home that was in the frosty 
 air ! And how Marko sang and the children chattered 
 like magpies of all they had seen and done in the 
 English hospital ! 
 
 Never had the way from Ban] a seemed so short. 
 And when they were quite a distance from their 
 own fields, who should come running along the road 
 but Ivanka, unable to keep still in the house any 
 longer. 
 
 And what a shout there was when Drago saw her ! 
 He almost leapt out of the kola in his excitement, 
 and Chedda danced up and down and clapped his 
 hands till his mother loved him so much that she 
 just had to catch him up in her arms again and 
 almost smother him with kisses. 
 
 " How happy now is Maika, the mother hen/' 
 laughed Marko, " now that she has all her chickens 
 in the coop with her again ! ' 
 
 " It will be a good Christmas now," said Ivanka ; 
 " and, Maika, thou wilt ask our friends to come too 
 it is a promise, thou knowest." 
 
 " Marko shall ask them," said her mother. " Marko 
 shall go to-morrow and carry some new-made kaimak 
 to the Little Sister, and then he shall carry my 
 message." 
 92 
 
THE HOUSE AT NOVO SELO 
 
 And the very next day sure enough Marko set off 
 for Ban] a. And you are not to suppose that the 
 invitation was refused, for indeed it was not. In 
 fact, another person was to be added to their party, 
 for the big doctor pretended to be very much hurt 
 that he had not been asked, which made Marko 
 laugh very much and show all his white teeth, and 
 so it was settled that he should come too, and if the 
 day were fine and sunny he would take photographs 
 of all the family in their festive clothes. 
 
 The day before ' Bozhitch/ which is the Serbian 
 name for Christmas, was a very busy one at Novo 
 Selo. Early in the morning Marko went to the forest 
 with another boy from the village to cut a young 
 oak-tree for the badnjak, which is the Christmas log. 
 
 The two boys went before sunrise, and taking 
 their oxen and sledge mounted high into the woods. 
 There they marked the tree they wanted, which was 
 a fine young oak, and first crossing themselves three 
 times, they threw a handful of wheat on the tree, 
 saying as they did this : " Happy Badnyi Dan to 
 you." 
 
 Then they cut it so that it must fall toward the 
 east for that ensures a happy year for the house- 
 hold ; and when it had fallen they chopped it into 
 four or five logs, and kept with great care the very 
 first chips from the tree. 
 
 When they reached the house they left the logs 
 standing against one of the house walls, and Maika 
 came out and broke a cake made of white wheat 
 flour against the biggest log. And that was the logs' 
 Christmas present from the house ! 
 
 93 
 
TALES OF SERBIAN LIFE 
 
 And through that day, which we should call 
 Christmas Eve, but which the Serbians christen 
 ' Badnyi Dan ' (because in olden times a god named 
 Badnyi used to be worshipped on that day), groups 
 of children went from house to house singing songs 
 which are very, very old. These songs are addressed 
 to a heathen goddess named Colleda, and she is 
 asked to cause the cows to give much milk " So 
 that we, O Colleda, may bathe our little god in white 
 milk, O Colleda/' 
 
 Doubtless the children thought little about the 
 meaning of the songs, but it was the custom, and 
 they liked to go from house to house, beginning their 
 Christmas in this old, time-honoured way. 
 
 Marko could not give up the whole day to singing, 
 though, for he was very busy preparing one of the 
 fattest of the young pigs for roasting the next 
 morning. The pig would be roasted whole over a 
 big fire which would be made in the courtyard, and 
 of course it took rather a lot of time to collect logs 
 and sticks and lay the pile ready. Each family 
 strives to be the first to set its pig roasting, and as 
 soon as the carcass has been put down before the 
 blaze, one of the sons of the house rushes out and 
 fires off his pistol to let the other houses know, and 
 really you might think a battle was going on as the 
 shots echo down from the mountains and one house 
 answers the next, till a distant village takes it up. 
 
 However, in the end all was done to Marko's 
 satisfaction, and next he went in search of straw, 
 of which he took a bundle, tied it round the middle 
 with rope, and laid it down near the logs. Maika too 
 
 94 
 
THE HOUSE AT NOVO SELO 
 
 was as busy as a bee, brushing her rooms and polish- 
 ing the brass trays and the coffee-mill till all shone 
 like gold, pulling out the best coverlets for the beds, 
 and putting up a new picture of their patron saint, 
 St John, above the bracket where the little lamp burnt 
 continually. In the eastern corner of the kitchen 
 she placed a little wooden box and filled it with wheat 
 which was sprouting, and placed in it a tall candle 
 of yellow wax. All day long she was busy prepar- 
 ing special little wheaten cakes in the shape of lambs, 
 pigs, and chickens. 
 
 Just before sunset Ivanka and Drago came running 
 in. Maika called all the children together and gave 
 Marko, since he was the only man in the house, a 
 pair of woollen gloves. These he must put on in 
 order to carry in the badnjak, which was the biggest 
 of the logs he had cut, Out went Marko, and soon 
 they heard his knock at the door. 
 
 '' Who is that ? " called Maika. 
 
 " It is thy son. Good evening to all, and may you 
 have a happy Christmas," said Marko, as he entered 
 the house, bearing the big log in his strong young 
 arms. Then Maika and the children all answered 
 in chorus: 'May God and the happy and holy 
 Bozhitch help thee ! " and as he got inside the door 
 Maika threw a handful of wheat at him, and in it 
 was a chip of wood which he had cut early that 
 morning. It was considered very lucky if this chip 
 of wood actually struck the badnjak and not the 
 person who was carrying it, and a shout of joy went 
 up from the children as they saw Maika aim true. 
 Marko laid the badnjak on the big stone hearth, and 
 
 95 
 
TALES OF SERBIAN LIFE 
 
 banked the other wood round it in such a way that 
 it would burn for a long time, and he left one end 
 of it sticking out a little from the fire. 
 
 Then Maika opened the door and went out to 
 fetch the bundle of straw. The children formed 
 themselves in a little procession behind her, and she 
 walked round the room and then into the next one 
 very slowly, throwing handfuls of straw on the floor 
 and imitating the hens' ' Cluck, cluck/ while all the 
 children, representing her little chickens, followed 
 her, merrily shouting, " Peyooo ! Peyooo I Peyooo I " 
 
 When the floors were strewn with straw Maika 
 took a handful of walnuts and threw them into every 
 corner of the room, saying a little prayer as she did 
 so, for this custom means that Christmas is coming 
 to all the four corners of the earth. 
 
 Then she went to the little box of growing wheat 
 and lit the tall yellow candle and prayed that in the 
 coming year the fields might give good harvest and 
 the cattle and sheep might thrive and rear their 
 young in safety, that the cows might give rich milk, 
 and the beehives be filled with honey. And all the 
 children stood with down-bent heads listening very 
 quietly. 
 
 Next they had supper, and as the night before 
 Bozhitch is a fast night they could not have any 
 meat. But there was boiled wheat and sugar, 
 beans in oil, and potatoes, and as many little cakes 
 as they liked. And the best fun of all was that they 
 all sat on the floor to eat it. The dishes were spread 
 on sacking laid over the straw, for on this night 
 tables and chairs are never used. 
 
Christmas in a Serbian Home 
 
 GILBERT JAMES 
 
THE HOUSE AT NOVO SELO 
 
 Bedtime came early, for every one rises with the 
 lark on Christmas Day, and little Ivanka was carry- 
 ing her pitcher to the well before the sun was even 
 peeping. As she drew her water she wished it a 
 happy Christmas and threw a handful of wheat in 
 for its Christmas offering. 
 
 Maika took the first cupfuls of water which Ivanka 
 had brought to the house, for they are always kept 
 to make the special Christmas cake called chestnitsa, 
 composed of boiled wheat pounded and sugar and 
 nuts. Into this cake Maika put a little silver coin, 
 and of course the person who got the coin would be 
 considered the specially lucky one during the coming 
 year. 
 
 The next important thing was to see to the roast- 
 ing of the pig, and Marko's face was very serious 
 till he saw his splendid bonfire blazing away in the 
 courtyard and the pig turning merrily over the spit. 
 Then he rushed away for his pistol and fired his 
 two shots into the tree-tops, and actually beat the 
 whole village by at least two minutes ! So naturally 
 he was very proud of himself. 
 
 It was a cold, frosty morning, but no fresh snow 
 had fallen, and the sun was already giving promise 
 of a glorious day. Now they all gathered round the 
 hearth, waiting the arrival of the special Christmas 
 visitor, for till he comes to bring Bozhitch no other 
 stranger is allowed to cross the threshold. They 
 knew that he would come' very early, as was the 
 custom, so when they heard a knocking on the door 
 Maika hastened to open it. In his hand the boy, 
 who was Yanko Stefanovitch, a near neighbour, 
 G 97 
 
TALES OF SERBIAN LIFE 
 
 carried wheat, and he threw a little handful at them, 
 saying, " Christ is born/' Maika threw a little at 
 him, while the others all answered him in chorus, 
 saying, " Verily He is born/' 
 
 Then Yanko walked to the hearth and took the 
 shovel in his hand and smote the badnjak, which 
 still burnt a little, with such force that thousands of 
 sparks flew upward to the chimney, saying, " May 
 you this year have so many oxen, so many sheep, 
 so many pigs, so many lambs, and so much good 
 luck, prosperity, progress, and happiness/' After 
 that he kissed the hand of Dobrilla Yankovitch, 
 and falling on his knees kissed the edge of the log 
 which remained unburnt because Marko had placed 
 it just outside the hearth, and he laid a coin on it 
 as his gift. 
 
 Maika brought forward a low wooden stool for him 
 to sit upon, but just at the moment when he was 
 going to sit down Marko snatched the stool away 
 so that he fell on the floor. We should think that 
 a terribly rude way to behave to a guest, but Yanko 
 knew what would happen, for that was all part of 
 the ceremony, the Serbs believing that by this fall 
 the good wishes of their Christmas visitor are firmly 
 fixed to the ground. 
 
 Yanko sat quite still on the floor as if waiting for 
 something, and in a moment Maika went to the big 
 bed and picked up a thick blanket, which she wrapped 
 round him, and for a few moments he sat quietly 
 by the hearth. If you had asked him what this 
 meant he would have told you that now he had 
 ensured thick cream for the coming year. And if 
 
THE HOUSE AT NOVO SELO 
 
 there had been another boy as old as Marko in the 
 house, Marko and he, if they were going to act as 
 shepherds next year, would have embraced and 
 kissed each other across the badnjak as it burnt, 
 for that would ensure the attachment of the sheep 
 to their lambs. But as Marko had not a brother old 
 enough to be shepherd, he had to pretend that Yanko 
 was his brother, and he and Marko kissed across 
 the leaping flames of the Christmas logs. 
 
 There was rather an anxious hour for Marko be- 
 fore their guests arrived, for what if the pig should 
 be over-roasted ? Half a dozen times a minute he 
 would go running out to the courtyard to see if the 
 animal needed turning, then he would tear down the 
 orchard to see if there were any signs of their guests. 
 However, just when he was beginning to despair 
 Ivanka called out to him, " Here, Marko, I see them 
 coming ! " and all the children raced as fast as they 
 could go to greet their friends. And the big doctor's 
 pockets were bulging in a most unusual way, which 
 soon explained itself in the shape of the most beautiful 
 things the children had ever seen. 
 
 Can you imagine what it must be like to have 
 reached the age of ten without having had a dolly ? 
 and what Ivanka said when she saw the one that 
 had come for her, all dressed by the ' Mali Sestra's ' 
 hands ? As a matter of fact, she did not say a word, 
 for she was far too excited. Her eyes shone like 
 two stars, and she could only run speechlessly to 
 Maika and then back to kiss the ' Mali Sestra's ' 
 hand. And not for one moment did that dolly leave 
 her arms for the rest of the day. Marko had a 
 
 99 
 
TALES OF SERBIAN LIFE 
 
 wonderful knife with three blades and a corkscrew, 
 and there were soldiers for Drago, and a big ball 
 for Chedda. Moreover, Maika was not forgotten 
 either, and I think she felt a little more inclined to 
 cry than smile when she saw the new coffee cups, 
 all gaily painted with flowers, which were to take 
 the place of her old cracked ones. You see, it did 
 not often happen that Maika got a present, and she 
 looked so solemn that the big doctor made them all 
 come out into the sunshine to have their pictures 
 taken in their festival clothes. That made plenty 
 of laughter, so that the neighbours even came to 
 share the joke and say " Dobar dan " to the English 
 people. 
 
 And then they went into the house to eat their 
 pig. You will be glad to hear that it was roasted 
 to perfection ; and to eat with it there was white 
 wheat en bread, and little wheat cakes too. Such a 
 merry meal it was, though only the ' Mali Sestra ' 
 could act as interpreter for the others. 
 
 When they had all eaten as much roast pig as they 
 possibly could (and the big doctor whispered to the 
 ' Mali Sestra ' that certainly Drago would dream of 
 strange things that night !), and drunk some more of 
 Dobrilla's excellent coffee, there was a little surprise 
 for them, for in came big Yanko again, and his sister 
 Zora, and behind them Militsa Obilitch and her 
 husband Mirko, and with them their two sons and 
 little Kossara. 
 
 And no sooner had Ivanka made fresh coffee for 
 all their visitors than the clatter of horses' hoofs 
 was heard on the road, and Marko, running out to 
 100 
 
THE HOUSE AT NQ'VO SELQ 
 
 see who it was, came back with Uncle Ivan, Cousin 
 Petar, and Cousin Andreas in his grey uniform. 
 What a crowd it made ! There were so many 
 greetings and good wishes that the air was quite 
 thick with them. Every one was very gay and full 
 of little jokes, and all the new-comers were im- 
 mensely pleased to see the English visitors. 
 
 But the house was too full with all the people in 
 it, and Cousin Andreas had brought his fiddle with 
 him, so all of them tripped out into the courtyard 
 and began to dance the kolo. 
 
 Petar Obilitch could play on the fiddle and he 
 thought it would be fine to have still more music, so 
 off he ran home for his, and he and Andreas played 
 so that even a stone must have wanted to dance. 
 
 At first only the younger people danced, but soon 
 the older ones got the music into their toes, and 
 before long they were all tripping in a merry ring. 
 The big doctor and the two Sisters said they could 
 not dance, but it was no use protesting they had 
 to join hands and learn the steps too ; and how 
 Marko and Ivanka loved this ! So they danced until 
 they were all tired ; and then Cousin Andreas gave 
 his fiddle to his father, and he and big Yanko, who 
 were among the best dancers in the country-side, 
 danced a special kolo all by themselves, and the 
 others clapped their hands in time for them. I can 
 tell you there was good dancing at Dobrilla Yanko- 
 vitch's that Bozhitch. Then when they had finished 
 Maika brought out red wine for them all to drink ; 
 after which they trooped into the house again, for 
 it was cold even in the sunshine, and Petar sang and 
 
 101 
 
TALES OF SERBIAN LIFE 
 
 Andreas sang, and then they all sang together till the 
 rafters rang. 
 
 But now the afternoon sun was getting low, and 
 the English people got up rather regretfully from 
 their seats, for they knew that they must say ' Good- 
 bye/ and that is a word no one likes to say to Serbia. 
 All three were to go back to England very soon, and 
 though they wanted to see their own country again, 
 of course, yet it made them sad to bid farewell to 
 these dear people whom they had known and loved. 
 
 So they went out of the door looking rather wist- 
 fully back at the little house, and every one said : 
 " We will not say farewell, for we know that you 
 will come back to us some day/' 
 
 " Good-bye, you dear people/' cried the ' Mali 
 Sestra.' "I shall never forget you. Good-bye, my 
 Marko. Good-bye, Ivanka. Good-bye, Drago say 
 ' Good-bye ' in English, little man, as we taught 
 you at the hospital. And good-bye, baby Chedda/' 
 And she kissed them all, even big Marko. But 
 when it was Dobrilla's turn, the poor woman felt 
 that she could not utter the parting words. For 
 she loved the ' Mali Sestra/ though they could not 
 talk together very much. 
 
 " Maika/' said the Sister, moved no less, " I won't 
 say good-bye to any of you, only, ' Till I see you 
 again/ for you are all dear to me, and I leave a big 
 piece of my heart behind me in Novo Selo." 
 
 " That is good/' said Maika. " I will not say 
 good-bye to my friends. Such good Sestara and 
 such a good doctor ! But for the English I should 
 be a mother crying ' Woe is me ! ' for little Chedda. 
 102 
 
THE HOUSE AT NOVO SELO 
 
 When you come back we shall still be here, I and the 
 little ones, only perhaps they will have grown much 
 bigger before then. And I shall always watch for 
 you, and the door shall never be latched against 
 you, my Mali Sestra. 
 
 " I am poor and I cannot do you honour as it 
 should be done to you, but I love you and I kiss 
 your hand. May all the saints protect you and 
 may your life be happy/' 
 
 " But I think / shall come with you to England/' 
 put in Marko, who had stolen up behind his mother 
 unobserved. " I can talk English quite well- 
 Good morning, Good evening/' he said in his funny 
 way. " How are-ee you ? A pig, a cow, a sheep " 
 for that was all Marko really knew ! 
 
 With that Dobrilla Maika was herself again. 
 
 " It is not easy to make this rascal anything but 
 a great naughty baby," she laughed, and sent him 
 to open the gates for the Sisters to pass out. 
 
 Past the orchard only their waving hands could be 
 seen, and with a little sigh Maika and the children 
 turned back to entertain their other guests, who 
 stayed till evening with them. All the same, when 
 they were alone again sitting round the fire, before 
 they went to bed, the Maika singing a crooning song 
 to Chedda which has a soft little chorus like this : 
 
 "Tamo daleko, 
 Daleko kri more, 
 Tamo je selo moye, 
 Tamo je lyuba moja," 
 
 and which means, " Over there, far away beside 
 the sea, there is my village and there is my love," 
 
 103 
 
TALES OF SERBIAN LIFE 
 
 Marko snuggled up against the soft warmth of her 
 skirt as if he were only a little boy like Drago instead 
 of a fine big lad of twelve. And when Maika's real 
 mother hand came down on his shoulder he gave 
 a little contented grunt and he said : 
 
 " After all, Maika, it will be best for me not to 
 go to England with the Mali Sestra. For I do not 
 think thou wouldst do very well without thy man 
 in this house, and for a very certainty Marko who is 
 not the King's son would be a sad and lonely boy 
 if he had not his troublesome Maika. Therefore I 
 think that I have decided to remain here." 
 
 And once again Dobrilla Yankovitch laughed a 
 little, softly to herself, for she was a wise mother, 
 as I have said before. 
 
 104 
 
THE VILLA GOLUB 
 
CHAPTER I : ANDRIJA LAZARA- 
 VITCH 
 
 ANDRIJA sat on the top step of the wide 
 balcony which ran round the Villa Golub and 
 kicked the wooden balustrade with his new 
 brown shoes. Every kick made the paint fly oft in 
 little chips, for the sun was so hot that the wood had 
 become too dry to hold it ; and the new shoes were 
 becoming a little stubbed at the toes. This, however, 
 did not matter to Andrija, who was already in dis- 
 grace, and who was so cross and unhappy that a little 
 more scolding did not signify. 
 
 This last year of his life had been spent in a state 
 of acute bewilderment, and if you can imagine how 
 it feels after seven years of blissful doing as you 
 like to be translated suddenly into a sphere where it 
 appears to be impossible to do one single one of the 
 many delightful things in life, you will have some 
 idea of why Andrija was damaging the property of 
 his aunt, Olga Stankovitch, and his uncle, Bozhidar 
 Stankovitch. 
 
 One of the greatest puzzles of Andrija's life was 
 how Aunt Olga could possibly have become the sister 
 of his father, Dushan Lazaravitch, for there were 
 never two people more unlike in the whole world. 
 
 Andrija gave the balustrade a specially vicious kick 
 just then as he heard his aunt's shrill voice scolding 
 the girl who helped her in that housework which 
 seemed so never-ending in the Villa Golub. Why 
 were there such queer people in the world ? and why, 
 oh, why, just because she happened to be his father's 
 
 107 
 
TALES OF SERBIAN LIFE 
 
 only woman relative, must a small boy be obliged to 
 spend not only his schooldays, but his holidays too, 
 in a house he disliked more and more every day of 
 his life ? 
 
 Andrija looked down at the dusty garden and 
 kicked the balustrade again till he hurt his toes ; and 
 even that was a sort of relief. He was tired of every 
 yard of it, tired of the straggling rose-bushes and 
 weedy sunflowers, tired of the stretch of road which 
 bordered on the garden and the villa, tired particu- 
 larly of the sight of the big metal balls, red and green 
 and blue, which surmounted long rods stuck into the 
 ground and arranged in a prim row in front of the 
 garden gate. 
 
 When he had first come there Andrija had thought 
 them rather wonderful, for he had never seen any- 
 thing like them in his life before, and as ornaments 
 for a garden they certainly were rather striking! 
 But now he turned his head away so that he might 
 not see the sun glinting on them, and looked down 
 the road instead in the hope of a little excitement. 
 Of course there was nothing to see there never was, 
 for Posharevats is a sleepy little town tucked in 
 front of the group of low hills that lead from the 
 Danube plains into the heart of Serbia. Andrija's 
 home had been in Belgrade except for the hottest 
 months of the year, when he had always gone with 
 the big jolly father and pretty, gay little mother, who 
 had made such happiness for him all those years that 
 he could remember, up into the mountains, where it 
 was cool and where he had been able to run wild like 
 all the little peasant boys. Then in the colder months 
 108 
 
THE VILLA GOLUB 
 
 there was the big white house in Belgrade, quite 
 near the King's palace and the beautiful Winter 
 Gardens, the blue Danube with boats continually 
 coming and going, the soldiers up in the fort or drill- 
 ing in the fields, the shops and houses, and all the 
 passers-by to watch. He had had his pony too, and 
 there had been delightful rides by the side of his 
 father's big grey Velko (which means ' swift/ and 
 well did Velko deserve that name). Andrija could 
 never remember hearing a cross word or a shrill voice 
 in all those seven years of his life, and the continual 
 scolding which went on in the Villa Golub was a 
 puzzle to him. 
 
 Also he was continually in disgrace ! How it 
 happened he never quite knew, but whereas his two 
 little cousins, Ljubitsa and Natalija, appeared to get 
 through the days without calamity, Andrija was in 
 hot water, as it seemed, every hour of the twenty- 
 four. The only conclusion to which he could come 
 was that girls of whom he knew practically nothing, 
 since he was an only child, and all his other play- 
 mates in Belgrade or Banja had been boys were 
 somehow born good, or born lucky, which seemed to 
 work out the same as regards being punished. 
 
 Andrija's passion for poking his small nose into 
 every corner of the house and garden, the ease with 
 which he tore his clothes or made his white sailor 
 suits dirty, the way in which stray animals all elected 
 to follow him to the Villa Golub and once there de- 
 clined to leave him these and other things were 
 among the reasons for his being so continually under 
 the shadow of his aunt's displeasure. 
 
 109 
 
TALES OF SERBIAN LIFE 
 
 Yet though Colonel Lazaravitch had been sorely 
 tempted, when Andrija's mother had died and left 
 them both so sorrowful, to keep the boy with him 
 and watch over him himself, he had found it quite 
 impossible for the next few years. He was a clever 
 soldier, and the new post he had taken made it neces- 
 sary for him to travel up and down the country in- 
 specting the cavalry of the different divisions of the 
 army, and it would have been quite out of the 
 question for a seven-year-old boy to go with him. 
 Besides, it seemed to him that Andrija should have 
 a woman's care for a year or two, and his sister Olga 
 was the only relative left to him. Andrija's mother 
 had been a Frenchwoman, and she had no relations 
 in Serbia, so it really seemed as though Aunt Olga 
 was the only solution of the difficulty; and when 
 Colonel Lazaravitch wrote to her to ask if she would 
 take the boy, she answered him promptly that she 
 would be delighted to receive him into her family. 
 
 When Andrija heard that he was to leave his 
 father and that the white house in Belgrade was no 
 longer to be his home, he had to remind himself very 
 hard that he was seven or else I am afraid he would 
 have disgraced himself in his own eyes by crying 
 before his father. But he gulped down a big sob 
 and winked the water out of his eyes and saluted the 
 tall Colonel before he said very gravely : 
 
 ' Will there be boys there, father, and can I go 
 to school in Posharevats ? Is it a town as big as 
 Belgrade, and are there soldiers ? " 
 
 ' No, my son, your cousins are both girls, unfortun- 
 ately, but you shall go to school, and there you will 
 no 
 
THE VILLA GOLUB 
 
 find your playmates. Indeed, my old friend Pavlo 
 Hitch lives there, and he has two sons, or even three. 
 Maybe there is one your age, or at least not very much 
 older. And Aunt Olga will of a certainty know many 
 people in the little town, for she has lived there ever 
 since her marriage. It is but a little town, not like 
 our beautiful Belgrade, and there is no garrison till 
 the Qth Regiment comes down from Valievo. But 
 there are fine vineyards, and you may help to gather 
 the grapes, and you shall take the pony if you will 
 promise not to ride him overhard or go too far alone/' 
 
 " Have you seen my Aunt Olga, father ? Why did 
 she never come to visit us when my mother lived ? " 
 asked Andrija. 
 
 Colonel Lazaravitch looked a little embarrassed at 
 the question, for it was true that he had not seen his 
 sister for many years, but if Andrija had known that 
 it was because of a quarrel between her and his 
 French mother he would have refused to go to live 
 with Aunt Olga, and his father thought it best for 
 him to go. 
 
 " Listen, Andrija/' he said, putting his hand on 
 the boy's shoulder. ' It will be for a few years only, 
 till you are old enough to enter the Gymnase at 
 Belgrade, and you must promise me that you will be 
 good and happy as far as you can. Perhaps the little 
 Francoise and I have spoilt you overmuch," speaking 
 half to himself as he looked over Andrija's head at 
 the picture of his wife that always hung over his 
 writing-desk, " but you were the only one and it was 
 for love. But maybe the time has come, Andrija, for 
 you to learn that life is not all play. And when you 
 
 in 
 
TALES OF SERBIAN LIFE 
 
 are at school do not forget that the others will want 
 their way in games and plans. Till now it has been 
 just Andrija and what Andrija wants ; now it must 
 be a sharing do not forget that. And do not forget, 
 my son, that you are to be a soldier too when the 
 time is ripe. Always tell the truth and do not be 
 afraid of anything. That is what I want you to 
 remember most." 
 
 Andrija listened very quietly, for his father did 
 not often make a long speech like this, and before he 
 ran off for his daily ride he drew himself up very 
 straight and saluted, not only his father, but the 
 picture of his mother, without whom the house seemed 
 so oddly quiet and the whole world just a little less 
 sunny, even to a seven-year-old boy. 
 
 That was a whole year ago, and Andrija had tried 
 hard to remember what his father had said, but 
 there were times when it was very difficult, and just 
 now as he sat on the steps of the veranda he was a 
 very cross, miserable little boy indeed. 
 
 The kicks grew louder, and a door behind Andrija 
 opened and out came Aunt Olga to see what all the 
 noise was about. 
 
 When she saw the marks on the balustrade she 
 threw up her hands in horror. 
 
 " Was there ever such a boy ? ' she cried in her 
 rather shrill voice. " I declare the saints are my wit- 
 ness that one would need to have as much patience 
 as if there were fifty children. Come away from that 
 veranda at once and stop that horrible noise. It is 
 surely for my sins that ever I consented to take my 
 brother's son into my house. Look at the paint all 
 112 
 
THE VILLA GOLUB 
 
 damaged/' she went on, her voice rising higher and 
 higher; "and to think that it was newly painted 
 only last summer! Andrija Lazaravitch, you are 
 the worst boy I have ever known. Come here and 
 let me look at your shoes," as a fresh crime caught 
 her eye. 
 
 Andrija went forward very unwillingly and stood 
 before his aunt. Certainly Gospodja Stankovitch 
 had some reason to be annoyed, for the shoes were 
 quite new, and Andrija's half -hour of bad temper 
 had made them as shabby as though he had worn 
 them for a month. 
 
 " Why do you behave so badly ? " she asked him. 
 " There is Ljubitsa and the little Natalija why do 
 you not play quiet games as they do instead of 
 tearing up and down like a mad creature, spoiling 
 your clothes and ruining your boots ? Why must 
 you be always wanting to climb the trees and race 
 the fowls ? I could wish there were no holidays in 
 the schools ; they are too long by a month, in my 
 opinion." 
 
 Andrija did not answer. He knew it was not the 
 slightest use trying to explain to his aunt that he 
 was desperately home-sick, not just for his father, but 
 for all the familiar things of his own home the high- 
 walled garden with its winding paths where a boy 
 could play all sorts of games away from the eye of 
 any ' grown-up 'the big white house with its green 
 shutters where it was not forbidden to touch any of 
 the things Andrija found interesting, and where it did 
 not seem to matter if one's boots got a little dusty 
 or shabby, since others appeared in their place. 
 
 H 113 
 
TALES OF SERBIAN LIFE 
 
 " Your father has spoilt you thoroughly," Olga 
 Stankovitch went on, " and if you had not come to 
 Posharevats you would have grown up a useless man, 
 always expecting other people to wait on you. Yet 
 all the thanks I get for trying to teach you better 
 ways and to bring you up in a proper manner is 
 that you sulk and scowl and ruin your new boots and 
 spoil my paint. It is hard and thankless work bring- 
 ing up other people's children. Perhaps if my brother 
 had contented himself with marrying one of his own 
 countrywomen things might have been different/' 
 
 Andrija's eyes flashed and he drew himself up to 
 his full height. " You shall not speak about my 
 mother ! " he cried. " I do not care what you say 
 about me or my father ; we are men ; but you shall 
 not even say my mother's name/' 
 
 ''Indeed?" said his aunt. " And since when am 
 I to be told by a child what I shall say and how I 
 shall say it ? Be very sure, Andrija, that your Uncle 
 Bozhidar shall hear of this rudeness, and your father 
 too. I am tired of this/' 
 
 " I am tired of this," said Andrija, " and I do not 
 mind what you tell my father. I wish I could go to 
 him ! ' J and in spite of his anger a big lump rose up 
 in his throat when he remembered that hardly a year 
 had gone by and there was still a long, long time to 
 wait before he could go back to his dear Belgrade 
 and live again with his tall father, who always under- 
 stood what a small boy wanted to do. 
 
 Gospodja Stankovitch turned away impatiently, 
 and after another look at the damaged balustrade 
 she went inside again, and soon Andrija heard her 
 114 
 
THE VILLA GOLUB 
 
 scolding some one else. Really she was not quite 
 such a cross person as it might appear. She was 
 kind-hearted enough and meant to be good to her 
 brother's son, but she was hot and overtired to-day, 
 because of all the preparations she was making for 
 the Slava which was to be held that week, and 
 before every Slava the Serbian house is turned upside 
 down, so that everything may be beautifully clean 
 and neat when the great day arrives. 
 
 The Slava is a kind of birthday for the whole 
 family, and it has its origin in some very old customs. 
 Hundreds of years ago the Serbs worshipped heathen 
 gods, but when they became Christians they had to 
 give up these gods, and the old priests who first taught 
 them allowed them to have a ' name-day ' to cele- 
 brate the day on which they first became Christians, 
 this always being one on which a saint was worshipped. 
 Thus some families would have their family birth- 
 day on St John's Day, some on St Andrew's Day, 
 and so on. 
 
 Every year on this saint's day the family held a 
 kind of birthday feast, to which all their relatives 
 and friends were invited, and to-day the Serbian 
 families celebrate their Slava, as it is called, in just 
 the same way as their ancestors did hundreds of 
 years ago. 
 
 So in the Villa Golub there were great preparations, 
 and ever}' room was being made ready, curtains and 
 cushion-covers washed, floors polished, and silver 
 cleaned, so that life was more than usually difficult 
 for Andrija just at present ! 
 
 In a few minutes Aunt Olga reappeared, carrying 
 
TALES OF SERBIAN LIFE 
 
 a large basket in her hand. " See, Andrija," she 
 said, " here is ten o'clock and no marketing done 
 yet. You must go for me this morning to the shops 
 and bring back some of the things. Take this piece 
 of paper with you and read it carefully. I have 
 written down all that is needful, for I know only too 
 well that everything that goes into one ear comes out 
 at the other, and there would be half a dozen things 
 missing if I were only to tell you what you must 
 bring. Now take the basket, and do not loiter on 
 the way or the dinner will never be cooked to-day. " 
 
 Andrija picked up the basket and stumped down 
 the steps. He had not been doing anything par- 
 ticularly interesting, indeed he had been wondering 
 how these long holidays were to be filled up, but being 
 in rather a sulky mood he just felt because Aunt Olga 
 had asked him to go shopping for her that it was 
 the very last thing he wanted to do ! However, he 
 started off down the long dusty road that led into 
 the town, and before he had gone far he began to 
 cheer up. 
 
 " This is a stupid house/' he said to himself, " and 
 I think my Aunt Olga is a stupid woman, the most 
 stupid I have ever seen. But if I am cross, why, it 
 does not make things any the pleasanter, so I think 
 I had better forget them all as far as I can. Ohe / 
 Stefan/' as he saw a little boy just about his own 
 age coming down the street, " where are you going 
 and what are you doing ?" 
 
 Stefan was carrying a parcel. ' These are shoes 
 to be mended," he said. " I am going to the shoe- 
 maker's in the Square. Will you come too ? ' 
 116 
 
THE VILLA GOLUB 
 
 " Yes, I can come," said Andrija. " I like to see 
 the shoemaker working. In Belgrade I never saw 
 shops like these these are much funnier, if they are 
 smaller." 
 
 " I should like to go to Belgrade," said Stefan. 
 u I want to see the big ships come up the Danube. 
 I have never seen a big one at least, not very big, 
 for they do not stop at Semendria, though you can 
 watch them from the banks." 
 
 " Once I went to Orsova," said Andrija proudly, 
 " and my father tells me that when I am grown up 
 I shall go to France and be perhaps days and nights 
 on the sea not the river, but the big sea." 
 
 ",You will be sick," said Stefan. " My father has 
 been to Egypt, and he was sick." 
 
 " I was not sick when I went to Orsova/' remarked 
 Andrija ; " but perhaps the sea is different." 
 
 " Here is the shoemaker's ; are you coming in ? ' 
 asked Stefan as they reached the cobbler's street. 
 Eight out of every ten shops were shoemakers', for 
 in Serbia some towns make only a few things in any 
 number and do not trouble much about others, and 
 in Posharevats you can be sure of getting good shoes 
 if nothing else. Stefan handed his shoes over the 
 low counter to the shoemaker, who was busy stitch- 
 ing at a pair of opanke like the ones which were 
 hanging in long rows outside the door. 
 
 The sun was getting very hot by that time, and 
 the two boys were glad of the excuse to linger for 
 a little in the cool shop, which was on the shady side 
 of the street, watching the old shoemaker, whose 
 busy fingers never stopped, though he was ready 
 
 117 
 
TALES OF SERBIAN LIFE 
 
 enough to talk and explain his work. The place 
 smelt deliciously of leather, for there were boots 
 enough to fit all the people of Posharevats, it seemed. 
 All kinds of boots top-boots in black shining leather 
 such as Andrija's father wore with his uniform, high 
 brown ones, low brown ones, shoes and slippers, 
 opanke and sandals filled every shelf and were 
 heaped about the floor. There were hides piled up 
 in bundles ready to be made into more boots, and 
 a little collection of shoes waiting to be mended. 
 Andrija would have liked to stay longer, but he 
 remembered his marketing, and Stefan and he 
 hurried on past the copper shops, where the clank 
 of hammers beating out the metal was heard over 
 everything, past the watchmaker's, where the watch- 
 mender sat at his table piled up with a bewildering 
 heap of fascinating wheels and springs, past the 
 chemist's, with its big coloured bottles decorating 
 the window and a smell of drugs and spices floating 
 out of the door, past the Grand Hotel, with its 
 little tables and -chairs standing out on the terrace 
 between the tubs of myrtle, and through the little 
 Park, with its statues and formal paths, to the 
 Market Square, which stood before the white-walled 
 Court House. 
 
 All round three sides of the square parade-ground 
 stood the market booths, gay with strings of the red 
 paprika^ and heaped-up glossy tomatoes, the vivid 
 green of vegetables and the bright yellow pumpkins 
 making brilliant contrasting patches of colour. 
 Andrija liked shopping well enough if the basket 
 
 1 Red pepper. 
 
 118 
 
THE VILLA GOLUB 
 
 did not grow too heavy, and he pulled out his little 
 slip of paper before the stalls where he thoughtfthe 
 food looked most tempting. 
 
 " I want all the things that are written here/' 
 
 he explained to the stout old man who sat reading 
 
 his newspaper under the shelter of his canvas awning. 
 
 ' There will be leeks and onions, paprika and cherries, 
 
 tomatoes and beans, I think/' 
 
 ' I have no onions to-day/' said the old man, 
 " but everything else I can give you. Have you a 
 basket to put them in ? " and he proceeded to get 
 out the vegetables and weigh them on his shining 
 scales, while Andrija handed the basket over the 
 low counter and beguiled the time of waiting by a 
 hopping match with Stefan from one side of the 
 street to the other. They narrowly escaped being 
 knocked down by a fiery Arab horse ridden by a 
 shouting soldier, avoided a bullock-cart drawn by 
 slow-moving oxen, and cannoned into a stout old 
 lady who was trailing her black silk skirt and fur- 
 edged mantle through the dusty streets, and who, 
 as Andrija recollected with a little grimace, was one 
 of his aunt's acquaintances and would certainly tell 
 her that her nephew was romping in the street instead 
 of walking sedately along like a properly behaved 
 schoolboy. 
 
 However, she contented herself with a very short 
 reproof, and Andrija, who expected worse, was happy 
 to escape so lightly and went back for his basket, 
 handing the money which his aunt had given him 
 with a very grown-up air to the shopkeeper, who was 
 a good-natured old fellow and presented each of the 
 
 119 
 
TALES OF SERBIAN LIFE 
 
 boys with a big handful of cherries, " to take the 
 taste of the dusty roads 'out of their mouths/' he 
 said. And the dust was indeed no laughing matter ! 
 The haze that had hung over the town earlier in the 
 morning had vanished before the powerful rays of 
 the midday sun, which beat down on the white 
 houses, the white roads, and the dusty trees till the 
 glare hurt the eyes and the heat parched the throats 
 of the people who thronged the streets. Another 
 hour or two and all the roads would be empty, the 
 bullock-carts pulled up under the trees for their 
 drivers to enjoy their midday rest, the hurrying 
 passers-by inside their houses or behind the closed 
 shutters of their shops. All the bustle and anima- 
 tion of the little town would have melted under the 
 glare of that scorching sun, and for the space of two 
 or three hours Posharevats would lie like an en- 
 chanted town, till with the springing up of the even- 
 ing breeze the spell would be broken and the people 
 would come out again to enjoy the evening coolness, 
 to drink their cups of coffee on the terrace of the 
 Grand Hotel and stroll in the Park and meet their 
 friends, and to read their newspapers before some 
 cafe while the evening meal was being prepared. 
 
 Andrija and Stefan walked slowly along the 
 streets, trying to find the coolest spot they could 
 and talking together about a hundred and one things, 
 quite forgetting, of course, that the time was going 
 and that they would certainly be very late, till they 
 reached the corner of the lane which led to the 
 Villa Natalia, where Stefan lived. 
 
 " Good-bye, Andrija/' he said, " I must hurry. 
 
 120 
 
THE VILLA GOLUB 
 
 It is our Slava to-day, and my brother is coming 
 home on leave specially for it." 
 
 " It is the Slava at Villa Golub on Thursday/' 
 answered Andrija. " At my house and when the 
 regiment has Slava it is nice and there are very good 
 cakes, but here it is all bustle and I do not like it 
 at all. When will you come with me to see my dog ? 
 I have him in a little shed near Uncle Bozhidar's 
 office, because my aunt will not have him in the 
 house she does not like dogs, though Knez Lazar is 
 a beauty and many people tried to make my father 
 sell him to them, but he never would because Lazar 
 is my dog and he w r ould not hunt for anyone else. 
 He is so quick, he can catch a hare, I think." 
 
 " To-morrow, perhaps/' called Stefan as he went 
 down the lane. " But you had better hurry or 
 Gospodja Stankovitch will be cross, and then perhaps 
 she will not let you come out." 
 
 Andrija thought this extremely likely, so he 
 hastened his steps, but though he hurried as fast 
 as he could with the heavy basket of vegetables he 
 was really rather late in getting back to the Villa 
 Golub, so late that his uncle had to do without his 
 favourite leek soup for dinner because there was no 
 time to make it. So of course that meant another 
 scolding for Andrija, and this time I am afraid he 
 rather deserved it ! 
 
 Uncle Bozhidar came in soon from his office and 
 hung up his hat in the little passage-way, and when 
 he came in the scolding stopped for a time. He was 
 a very quiet man, short and rather fat, but Andrija 
 liked him because he could sing so wonderfully 
 
 121 
 
TALES OF SERBIAN LIFE 
 
 well; and though he did not sing at home much, 
 still when he did it was so beautiful that Andrija 
 felt that he would do anything to please him. He 
 was very little in the Villa Golub, for he spent most 
 of the day in his office in the Court House, where he 
 transacted all the business of a busy lawyer, and in 
 the evenings he nearly always went to drink his 
 coffee and play dominoes in one or other of the cafes, 
 where he met his friends and talked politics or read 
 the papers. Not many guests came to the Villa 
 Golub ; only sometimes in the afternoons the friends 
 of Aunt Olga would come to drink coffee and talk 
 to her about their houses or their children. 
 
 Uncle Bozhidar was very fond of his two little 
 girls, and liked to take them with him in the early 
 evening to walk in the Park, and Andrija had to go 
 too, though he thought it very dull, just going round 
 and round the paths, and could not imagine why 
 Ljubitsa and Natalija found so much pleasure in 
 walking sedately on each side of their father, holding 
 his hand and listening to the conversation of the 
 grown-up people. 
 
 Uncle Bozhidar was rather displeased that there 
 was no leek soup for dinner, but he did not say 
 very much, and this rather annoyed his wife. 
 
 " It appears to me/' she said to him, " that you 
 think more of your nephew by marriage than you 
 do of your own children. It is not often that my 
 children are careless or thoughtless, but on the day 
 when Ljubitsa is forgetful or Natalija is naughty I 
 hear far more about it than when Andrija is in 
 question/' 
 122 
 
THE VILLA GOLUB 
 
 "He is only eight years old, Olga, and we cannot 
 expect the child to fall into our methodical ways 
 all at once," was the reply which Gospodin Stanko- 
 vitch made as he poured a plentiful supply of oil 
 over his beans. 
 
 u And how old is Natalija, pray ? " said his wife. 
 " Not a day older than six, and as wise a little body 
 as you could find all up and down Posharevats. 
 And if Ljubitsa has only ten years behind her she is 
 going to be a treasure to me in a very little longer/' 
 
 " They are good children/' said their father, 
 smiling down at them, " but Andrija will learn to be 
 as helpful in a little while, will he not ? " turning to 
 the rather sulky little boy who sat at the dinner- 
 table in silence. At home Andrija had been the 
 biggest chatterbox that could be imagined, and 
 when he was alone with his uncle he could find 
 plenty to say too, but in his aunt's presence he was 
 like a little fish. 
 
 " Since everything I say makes her angry/' he 
 used to say to himself, " I will not talk at all, and 
 then perhaps she will scold me less. She is so fat 
 that I should have thought she would be good- 
 tempered, like old Dimitri, our coachman in Belgrade. 
 Then my mother said that people who laughed 
 always grew fat, and she always knew why things 
 were so, but perhaps she was just wrong about my 
 aunt." 
 
 " Andrija," said his uncle, when the meal was 
 over, " you are to be ready at five o'clock to go to 
 the Park with me. It will be a little treat for you ; 
 and if you are very good you shall have lemonade 
 
 123 
 
TALES OF SERBIAN LIFE 
 
 with me afterward so shall your cousins eh, 
 Ljubitsa eh, Natalija mine ? ' pulling their tight 
 plaits as he passed their chairs. 
 
 " Andrija does not like to walk in the Park," 
 said Natalija, who was rather fond of making mischief 
 in a quiet way. " He would much rather run with 
 the schoolboys in the streets. He says the Park 
 is dull." 
 
 Andrija flushed to the roots of his brown hair, for 
 he knew his uncle was trying to be specially kind 
 to him, and he answered sturdily : 
 
 " I shall like to go very much with my Uncle 
 Bozhidar to-day. Thank you, Uncle," and he 
 saluted him as he used to salute his father, a little 
 politeness which always made his cousins giggle, but 
 which Uncle Bozhidar liked. 
 
 " That is right," he answered kindly. " I shall 
 come back for you at five o'clock, so be ready and do 
 not keep me waiting, children." 
 
 The rest of the afternoon passed as usual. Aunt 
 Olga sat embroidering in her sitting-room, a room 
 Andrija detested because he was perpetually being 
 warned not to touch this or that and not to walk 
 here or there. It had a shining floor and there were 
 some fine rugs hung along the wall, and the big 
 divans were piled up with embroidered cushions, but 
 it always looked too spick and span for anyone to 
 dare to sit down in, and the children, even prim little 
 Ljubitsa and Natalija, always avoided it if they 
 possibly could. In spite of the heat two friends of 
 Gospodja Stankovitch drove in to see her, and there 
 was the usual bustle to do them honour. The three 
 124 
 
THE VILLA GOLUB 
 
 ladies sat in a circle, and the big silver tray came in 
 bearing its load of tumblers filled with clear cold 
 water and a little dish of sladka, a kind of sweet syrup 
 poured over boiled cherries or plums. 
 
 Ljubitsa was summoned to carry the tray to her 
 mother's guests, which she did rather prettily, saying 
 " Izvolite " to each as she held it before them, so 
 that each could dip a silver spoon into the sladka 
 and sip the ice-cold water. After that coffee was 
 handed round, and little cakes, for Gospodja Stanko- 
 vitch was a noted housewife, and Natalija and 
 Andrija sent for, much to Andrija's disgust. He 
 hated the way visitors always talked about him, 
 " just as though I wasn't there at all," as he said 
 to his uncle once, and the many questions they asked 
 him about his home and his father, the answering 
 of which always made him feel very home-sick and 
 lonely. And of course it was just the same this 
 afternoon. 
 
 Gospodja Shapinats was just praising her hostess's 
 sladka as Andrija came into the room. " No one 
 in Posharevats can make it so well," she was saying, 
 " particularly your cherry sladka. Have you any 
 special method of preparing the cherries, dear Olga ? ' 
 
 Gospodja Stankovitch smiled, very well pleased 
 by this remark. " No, I think it is only that I take 
 particular care over the boiling, Gospodja Shapinats/' 
 she replied. " But I take great pains over my 
 housekeeping indeed, I think that should be the 
 case everywhere. Far too many of our girls nowa- 
 days look down on housekeeping and the good ways 
 of old, and that is why I think our men are marrying 
 
 125 
 
TALES OF SERBIAN LIFE 
 
 foreigners, though I could never see any benefit in 
 that." 
 
 Here she checked herself as Andrija walked up the 
 room and greeted the two ladies, Natalija following 
 closely behind him. 
 
 " And is this your nephew, Gospodja ? " inquired 
 the other visitor, who had been away from Poshare- 
 vats some time. " My husband has spoken to me 
 often of your brother, Colonel Lazaravitch. He 
 says what a fine officer he is, and how much good 
 work he has done." Andrija smiled at her in a very 
 friendly way here was some one at least who knew 
 something about his father. 
 
 " Yes, this is Andrija, his only son/' answered 
 Aunt Olga. " He is tall for his age, as you see, but 
 not so forward as my Ljubitsa was. Just imagine, 
 until he came to us he had never been inside a school 
 at all. I do not know what my brother was thinking 
 of. Now he has everything to learn." 
 
 Gospodja Maryanovitch was a younger woman 
 than either of the other two, with a small son of her 
 own, and she felt sorry for Andrija, who had grown 
 very red while his aunt was thus speaking. 
 
 " Never mind," she said kindly, but not looking at 
 the boy's red, angry face ; " I dare say Andrija will 
 have learnt a great many other things that books 
 cannot give him. My Djura is always playing at 
 soldiers, though he is only four. You must come 
 and teach him how to drill properly, Andrija. He 
 would like that. Will you come ? " 
 
 " Yes, please, Gospodja," said Andrija, in a low 
 voice, and he went and stood by her chair well away 
 126 
 
THE VILLA GOLUB 
 
 from his aunt, who was saying something behind her 
 fan Andrija felt sure she was recounting some of 
 his misdeeds to the other visitor. 
 
 "Have you seen my father?' he asked. "I 
 have not seen him for half a year, only once since I 
 came to this town. I want to see him I want to 
 go back to my home." 
 
 Gospodja Maryanovitch gave his arm a little pat, 
 and Andrija did not, for a wonder, mind this, though 
 usually he detested being petted by strangers. But 
 she seemed kind and as if she understood boys. 
 
 " No, I have never seen him/' she said, smiling, 
 r ' but my husband served under him in the last 
 Turkish war. You know he is a Reserve officer, 
 a captain second class, and that is how he met your 
 father. You must come to my house with your 
 cousins," she added hastily, turning to the two little 
 girls, who were listening to her conversation, " and 
 my husband shall tell you how he came to know 
 Colonel Lazaravitch, and how they swam the river 
 with the colours of the regiment it is a fine story." 
 
 Andrija's eyes sparkled. He knew the story quite 
 well had known since he was quite a little boy 
 how his father had won that splendid sword, the one 
 he only wore for reviews and on the King's birthday, 
 or the Slava day of the regiment ; but he was not 
 going to be impolite enough to tell Gospodja Maryano- 
 vitch that he knew all about it she was a kind lady 
 and he would go to her house. He turned to his 
 aunt, who sat watching him with a slight frown. 
 
 ' May I go to-morrow and play with little Djura ? ' 
 he asked, rather fearing a refusal. 
 
 127 
 
TALES OF SERBIAN LIFE 
 
 " If Gospodja Maryanovitch does not mind a 
 noisy, romping boy spoiling her carpets, you may 
 go," she answered ungraciously. "It is very kind 
 of you, Gospodja, for really I am worn out with the 
 noise the three of them make together. Ljubitsa 
 and Natalija were quiet enough till their cousin 
 came, but now I think they are growing just as noisy 
 as he is." 
 
 Gospodja Maryanovitch laughed as she got up to 
 go. " Oh, I do not mind noise/' she said. " The 
 garden is big enough, and Djura makes noise 
 sufficient for ten three more will not make much 
 difference. And they can come in the morning and 
 stop all the day, if you will let them. It is too hot 
 now for children to walk through the streets in the 
 afternoon, and they can go home when the sun has 
 gone down a little. Good-bye, Ljubitsa. Good- 
 bye, Natalija," she said. " You must both come, 
 and we will see what we can find to amuse you. 
 Good-bye, little Andrija," she went on, "and I shall 
 tell Djura that you are going to teach him to drill." 
 
 "Yes, indeed I will," said Andrija, almost stam- 
 mering with excitement, " and I will teach him all, 
 all. I know all the words of commandit will be 
 just like Belgrade when the sergeant-major taught 
 me when I was quite a little boy. Now, of course, I 
 am eight, so it is my turn to teach Djura." 
 
 This incident made the afternoon quite pleasant 
 for Andrija, and he had so recovered his good temper 
 as a result of Gospodja Maryanovitch's kind words 
 that he made no grumbling when his aunt insisted 
 on his being dressed for his walk with his uncle in 
 128 
 
THE VILLA GOLUB 
 
 the dark blue suit which was so much hotter than the 
 cool white sailor ones which his mother had liked him 
 to wear, but which Aunt Olga condemned as getting 
 dirty too quickly for daily wear. 
 
 At five o'clock Uncle Bozhidar came to fetch them, 
 and the little party started for the Park, Aunt Olga 
 in her grey silk dress and best black hat with the 
 nodding feathers, the two little girls in starched white 
 muslin, and Andrija, very hot and uncomfortable, in 
 his blue serge. All the streets were full of family 
 parties making for the same spot papas taking a 
 little exercise before they settled down for their 
 evening's debate or game of dominoes, mammas com- 
 paring notes as to their dresses and children, young 
 officers in smart white tunics and lemon kid gloves, 
 pretty girls in dainty muslins, and children walking 
 sedately on the paths holding their parents' hands, 
 all looking very good and proper. 
 
 The first time Andrija had been taken for one of 
 these evening promenades he had behaved rather 
 badly, running on the grass instead of keeping to the 
 sanded paths, chasing a puppy which had somehow 
 found its way into the Park, and shouting at the 
 top of his voice whenever he saw a specially pretty 
 flower-bed. But by this time he had learned, after 
 many chastening experiences, that the proper way 
 to behave on these occasions was to copy exactly 
 Natalija and Ljubitsa, those model children who were 
 such a nightmare to their more energetic cousin. 
 
 Round and round the paths went the family party, 
 
 meeting friends here and there with whom it was 
 
 necessary to stop and talk a little, while the children 
 
 I 129 
 
TALES OF SERBIAN LIFE 
 
 stood dismally first on one leg and then on the other. 
 Every one seemed very amiable, and there were no 
 wild pranks on the part of Andrija, who was thinking 
 about the Maryanovitch visit which he was to make. 
 Uncle Bozhidar took them all across to the Grand 
 Hotel, and they sat round one of the little tables 
 among other groups of people, and the elder ones 
 drank coffee and the children had lemonade. Aunt 
 Olga was in an unusually good temper, and Andrija 
 was just thinking that it was at least half a day since 
 he had been scolded at all seriously, when a tall 
 young officer suddenly appeared round the corner of 
 the hotel and made his way on to the terrace. 
 
 At the sight of him Andrija's heart gave a thud 
 and he felt such a pang of home-sickness that, for- 
 getting everything and every one, he jumped up and 
 made one wild leap for the new-comer, upsetting his 
 chair, which fell with a terrific clatter, and knocking 
 over glass and spoon. 
 
 " Lieutenant Pepitch ! " he cried, flinging his arms 
 round the young officer's neck. " My Pepitch ! I 
 thought I should never see you again, nor anybody 
 I knew. Come, come to talk to us do not go away, 
 or I shall die of loneliness. Do come and have your 
 coffee at my uncle's table, so that I can talk to you, 
 so that you can tell me everything ! I want to go 
 home. I am so home-sick, Pepitch ! " 
 
 The young lieutenant looked a little embarrassed, 
 for Andrija's welcome had been, to say the least of 
 it, rather public, and the noise he had made when he 
 upset his chair had drawn every one's attention to 
 the two, but he patted the boy's shoulder very kindly 
 130 
 
THE VILLA GOLUB 
 
 as he put him down and his smile was just as big and 
 jolly as it used to be in the days when he had been 
 almost a daily visitor to the Belgrade home of the 
 Lazaravitches. 
 
 ' Why, Andrija, this is a surprise/' he said gaily. 
 "And you are up to my elbow now, I do declare ! 
 How is Knez Lazar ? And is he with you ? Yes, I 
 will come, but remember I do not know your uncle 
 and aunt ; I shall have to introduce myself to them, 
 and then we will see." And he moved toward the 
 table, where a very angry Aunt Olga with a flushed 
 face was talking indignantly to her husband, who was 
 also rather annoyed by the boy's impetuous behaviour. 
 
 Uncle Bozhidar was the first to speak. " You are 
 acquainted with my nephew, I see," he said. " I am 
 Bozhidar Stankovitch, at your service, and my wife, 
 Olga Stankovitch, who is this noisy young man's 
 aunt." 
 
 Lieutenant Pepitch saluted, clicking his heels 
 together, which made his spurs tinkle in the way 
 Andrija loved. ' I am Pepitch," he said, " lieutenant 
 of cavalry, but now with the air service, and 
 Colonel Lazaravitch does me the honour to give me 
 his friendship. I have played with Andrija since he 
 could toddle holding to my finger, so I think you will 
 forgive his desertion of you when he saw me." As 
 he spoke he held Andrija by the hand, for the boy 
 was trembling with excitement and clung to him as 
 if he represented his only link with his old home. 
 They all sat down together, and Lieutenant Pepitch 
 talked pleasantly with the two elder people and 
 smiled at the children, for he saw well enough that 
 
TALES OF SERBIAN LIFE 
 
 Andrija was in dire disgrace, and he was sorry for the 
 little boy, with whom he had had such jolly romps 
 in white Belgrade, and whom he had helped to console 
 when the pretty mother left him. Andrija leaned 
 against his arm and touched his epaulette with almost 
 reverent fingers. In truth he was sick for the familiar 
 grey uniforms, the jingling spurs, the coming and 
 going of a big garrison town, the cries of command, 
 the drills and exercising, with which he had been 
 familiar from babyhood, for Colonel Lazaravitch 
 was one of those Serbian officers who have a passion- 
 ate love for their profession, and he wished his only 
 son to be brought up as nearly as possible in the 
 atmosphere that he himself loved so much. 
 
 To Andrija the quiet life of the Villa Golub, the 
 dull townspeople, the domestic chatter, the dis- 
 cussions over school life, the turmoil of preparation 
 for some little festival all were foreign to him, and 
 he longed for something that would put him once 
 again among those familiar scenes. Not that Andrija 
 could put all this into words, for he was too young, 
 but he felt somehow in Posharevats as though he 
 were in a foreign country thousands of miles from 
 his own people, so alien in every way were his 
 surroundings. 
 
 Pepitch was stationed in Valievo, a town many 
 kilometres from Posharevats, where a new aerodrome 
 was being built, and he had only come to Posharevats 
 on leave to visit some relations. He was dining at 
 the Grand Hotel with some other friends, but he good- 
 naturedly put off his appointment for half an hour 
 to make Andrija happy, and when at last he was 
 132 
 
THE VILLA GOLUB 
 
 obliged to say good night to the little boy he left him 
 consoled because he had promised to come to the 
 Stankovitch Slav a in two days' time, and Andrija 
 would see him again before he went away. 
 
 All the way back to the Villa Golub Aunt Olga 
 scolded, and Uncle Bozhidar reproved Andrija for 
 his terrible behaviour, but he was oblivious to every- 
 thing save the fact that he was clutching in his hot 
 little hand the precious star from Pepitch's epaulette 
 which he had pulled off hastily as a parting present 
 to the boy, and in his mind was the memory of the 
 promise the young aviator had made to him. And, 
 moreover, in the back of Andrija's brain was already 
 the beginning of a Great Plan, so that he went to 
 sleep that night happier, in spite of being in deeper 
 disgrace than usual, than he had been ever since he 
 came to Posharevats. 
 
 133 
 
CHAPTER II : THE SLAVA 
 
 ANDRIJA, Andrija ! Come along ! " cried 
 Gospodja Stankovitch on the morning of 
 the Slav a day. " The priest has come and 
 you will be late." 
 
 Andrija was in the garden feeding the pigeons, but 
 he ran in when he heard his aunt's voice and hastened 
 to wash his hands and brush his hair, casting a hasty 
 glance down to see if by an unlucky chance he had 
 got any dust or dirt on his clean white shirt. One 
 of the pigeons had perched on his shoulder and left 
 the dirty marks of its little feet, but that was about 
 the extent of the damage, and Andrija felt that he 
 was in luck for once ! 
 
 All the Stankovitch family was assembled in the 
 largest sitting-room, which, like every other place 
 in the house, was spotlessly clean. The floor shone 
 like glass, the furniture was polished till you could 
 see your face in it, and all the cushions were newly 
 adorned with beautifully embroidered covers. The 
 silver lamp under the sacred picture of St Ivan, the 
 family patron saint in whose honour the Slava was 
 being held, was filled with perfumed oil and burned 
 brightly. On the large round table which stood 
 directly under this ikon, as the Serbians call their 
 sacred pictures, stood a big flat cake, the special 
 Slava cake, made of wheaten flour and decorated 
 with special figures stamped with metal dies. On 
 each side of the cake were lighted candles, and behind 
 it stood a little glass jar filled with sprouting wheat, 
 in the middle of which burnt another tall wax candle. 
 
 134 
 
THE VILLA GOLUB 
 
 Grouped round were photographs of all the absent 
 members of the Stankovitch family, those who could 
 not be present at this f tie day of their house the day 
 when every Serb tries to be present in his home to 
 join in the rejoicings, if he possibly can do so. 
 
 As Andrija came into the room the priest was just 
 preparing to begin the little service, but he waited for 
 the boy, who came up to kiss his hand as he had been 
 taught to do. Then he took in his hand a large brush 
 made of dried herbs, and dipped it into a basin of holy 
 water, then flicked drops of the water into every 
 corner of the room, saying a little prayer as he did so. 
 When he had thus blessed the house for another 
 year till the new Slava day should come round, he 
 took up his book and read the service, all the house- 
 hold listening quietly, while Bozhidar Stankovitch, 
 as head of the house, made the responses. After 
 that the priest took up the Slava cake in his hand, 
 and Gospodin Stankovitch held it on the other side ; 
 then they turned it round so that the priest could bless 
 every part of it, after which he cut it into four pieces. 
 The Slava cake is not always eaten, but if every part 
 were not turned and blessed the Serbs believe that 
 the absent members of the family would not share 
 in the family fortunes for the coming year. In the 
 centre of the cake the priest poured a little red wine, 
 tilting it round so that every part received a few 
 drops, and after he had said a long prayer, in which 
 the names of all the saints are mentioned, but par- 
 ticularly that of the patron saint of the family which 
 is holding the Slava, the little service was over and 
 the party gave themselves up to merriment. 
 
 135 
 
TALES OF SERBIAN LIFE 
 
 A Slava generally lasts two days, and during that 
 time the house is open for visitors, who come to wish 
 the household Srechan Praznik, which means ' Happy 
 Feast-day to you/ 
 
 You can imagine that Gospodja Stankovitch, like 
 the good housewife she was, had prepared for the 
 occasion a very big larder full of all kinds of sweet 
 cakes, little sugar biscuits, and nut pasties, while 
 Uncle Bozhidar had taken care that there was a good 
 supply of the best wine, both red and white, for his 
 guests. 
 
 All that day, from ten o'clock in the morning till 
 ten at night, there was a continual coming and going 
 of guests, for the Stankovitch family was a large one, 
 and of course practically every one in Posharevats 
 came as well. It was a sleepy little town, with not 
 much to amuse people, so that the inhabitants were 
 always ready to make the most of any little festivity 
 that was going on, and Bozhidar Stankovitch was 
 very popular in the place even if his wife was not. 
 
 Every visitor who came had to drink several glasses 
 of wine and sample the sweet cakes, particularly the 
 zhito cake, which is a special kind only made for 
 grand occasions. It is made of boiled wheat, nuts, 
 and a great deal of sugar, and is really very delicious 
 better even than the nut pasties, and they are nice 
 enough for fairies to eat ! 
 
 Then there was coffee, of course, of which every 
 guest must partake. So, with one party of friends 
 following closely on the heels of the last, all the house- 
 hold was kept very busy running hither and thither. 
 There was a great bustle of talk and laughter, and 
 136 
 
THE VILLA GOLUB 
 
 Andrija thought it was fine fun. Ljubitsa and 
 Natalija helped their mother to serve the coffee and 
 sweet cakes to their guests, and Uncle Bozhidar 
 allowed Andrija to help him carry round the wine 
 after he had promised to go very slowly and not 
 spill any on the precious carpets. To his great joy, 
 Gospodja Maryanovitch and her husband, Captain 
 Maryanovitch, came to wish the family in the Villa 
 Golub Srechan Praznik, and Andrija was very proud 
 to carry the wine to the man who had fought under 
 his father and helped him to save the colours. 
 
 Captain Maryanovitch liked the sturdy little boy, 
 and kept him by his side for a long time, talking about 
 Belgrade and Colonel Lazaravitch, till Andrija was 
 blissfully happy and quite forgot his loneliness for 
 the time being. 
 
 " And what will you do when you are a man, 
 Andrija ? ' he asked, knowing very well what the 
 boy's answer would be. 
 
 " I shall be a soldier, of course, like my father. 
 All the Lazaravitches must serve," said Andrija 
 proudly. " And I think I shall be an aviator like 
 Lieutenant Pepitch. I should like to fly in the air 
 right into the clouds like he does. He says he has 
 been to the other side of the moon, but I think he 
 was only joking." 
 
 " He's always joking," laughed the Captain. " I 
 don't believe he could say ten words without a jest 
 in them. Ah ! there he is, talking to Gospodja 
 Stankovitch. I did not know he was in Posharevats 
 again." 
 
 Andrija darted across the room to his beloved 
 
 137 
 
TALES OF SERBIAN LIFE 
 
 Pepitch. He did not dare interrupt his conversation 
 with his aunt, but slipped his hand into the young 
 officer's and waited his time. Pepitch smiled down 
 at him and went on talking to his hostess. How 
 smart he looked ! for he had put on his very best 
 uniform to do honour to the Slava, and his very 
 shiniest boots with the jingling silver spurs. Andrija 
 liked his lean brown face and the white teeth that 
 showed when he laughed, as he did very often. He 
 had his best sword with the chased hilt, and beautiful 
 lavender kid gloves, and was altogether, with his 
 great height and fine carriage, a very fine specimen 
 of a young Serbian officer. 
 
 Andrija waited impatiently, but his aunt seemed 
 to go on talking for ever, and he was obliged to wait 
 till at last the arrival of a fresh party of guests set 
 his idol free and he pulled him away toward the 
 corner where his new friends, the Maryanovitches, 
 were still sitting. . 
 
 " So here you are, Pepitch/' said Captain Maryano- 
 vitch. " I thought that you were with the squadron 
 at Valievo." 
 
 " So I am indeed," answered Pepitch, " but I have 
 four days' leave and came two days ago to Posharevats 
 to see my cousin, Dushan Tomitch. Afterward I go 
 to Valievo, but I shall not be there long I am to go 
 to Paris with six others, and shall bring back the new 
 biplanes with them." 
 
 Andrija was leaning against his chair listening to 
 every word. " And why did you say to my aunt 
 that my father would not be away long. Is he going 
 to Paris ? " 
 138 
 
THE VILLA GOLUB 
 
 Lieutenant Pepitch looked rather embarrassed. 
 He had not meant the boy to hear the discussion 
 which had been going on between Gospodja Stanko- 
 vitch and himself, for it was true that there was 
 talk of Colonel Lazaravitch being sent to France on 
 a special mission, and he would probably be out of 
 Serbia for four or five months. But he was afraid 
 that Andrija would be dreadfully unhappy if he knew 
 this, so he had only written to Pepitch to tell him to 
 inform Gospodja Stankovitch. 
 
 "It is true there is some talk of it, Andrija," he 
 said, after a minute's thought, " but you would be 
 glad if he went, would you not ? It will be a fine 
 thing for him, you know it is the King who sends 
 him, and you would want him to serve the King ? 
 Still, it is not certain that he's going," he added. 
 
 Andrija nodded slowly, but his eyes were full of 
 tears that he could not keep back, and for a moment 
 he could not say anything. 
 
 " But I do not want him to leave me, Pepitcha 
 mine," he got out at last. ' There is nobody else, 
 and he will be so lonely without me, and I want him. 
 He promised to come to see me, and now it is half 
 a year since he was here, and though I like the 
 school and the boys I am so unhappy without him. 
 Why cannot I go to him ? ' 
 
 " See you, Andrija," said his friend, " you have been 
 a good and obedient boy this fourteen months since 
 you came to Posharevats ; cannot you be patient 
 a little longer ? Your father is busy always, and you 
 see he is not staying long in one place he is in the 
 saddle all the time and you could not go with him." 
 
 139 
 
TALES OF SERBIAN LIFE 
 
 " Yes, I could," said Andrija. " My pony is very 
 strong and I can ride all day without being tired. 
 Only take me with you, Pepitch, or I shall die of 
 loneliness/' 
 
 Lieutenant Pepitch looked across at the Maryano- 
 vitches ; then he said to Andrija : " See, Andrija, 
 you have never been to see my new horse. Ban is 
 his name, and my sais has him outside there he is, 
 walking up and down. Go out and ask him to put 
 you up, and you may walk him gently down the road, 
 but do not gallop him, for he is tired to-day we 
 were out this morning early." 
 
 Andrija trotted away obediently, and the young 
 aviator turned to the Maryanovitches. " What am 
 I to do with them both ? " he asked. " There is 
 Lazaravitch eating his heart out for his boy you 
 know how the three of them were never separated, 
 and he is all he has left. And here is the lad fretting 
 himself into a fever for his father he is thinner 
 already than when I saw him last, and there seems 
 to be no happiness in the child. He has tried his 
 best, I am certain, to be obedient to his father's 
 wishes, but I wish Lazaravitch could see him." 
 
 He looked worried as he spoke, and Yelka Maryano- 
 vitch, who was very fond of Andrija, sighed sym- 
 pathetically as she said : " Yes, it is easy to see 
 how the child adores his father ; indeed, I have never 
 before seen one so young who thought and talked 
 of nothing else but the one thing. He came with 
 the little Stankovitches to play with my Djura 
 on Tuesday, and I declare it made my heart ache to 
 see him when his father's photograph came out of my 
 140 
 
THE VILLA GOLUB 
 
 husband's pocket he simply leapt at it, and went 
 into a corner quite alone so that he could look at it 
 without the eyes of the other children on him." 
 
 ' He is a fine little chap/' said Captain Maryano- 
 vitch, " and manly enough, and I have heard him 
 romping and laughing freely enough at school, but 
 he is like a fish out of water in Gospodja Stanko- 
 vitch's house." Captain Maryanovitch was a blunt 
 sort of man who said what he thought, but his wife 
 hastened to change the subject, as, though she did 
 not approve of the way Andrija was treated by his 
 aunt, still she was a guest in her house and as such 
 she felt it was discourteous to discuss their hostess. 
 
 As Andrija came back flushed and joyous from 
 his little excursion with ' Ban/ Lieutenant Pepitch 
 was just saying good-bye to Aunt Olga and Uncle 
 Bozhidar, and he ran up the steps of the veranda 
 post-haste, nearly knocking down Natalija in his 
 hurry. 
 
 " Oh, Pepitch, do not go, do not go yet ! " he cried. 
 " I have so many things to tell you, and I want to 
 show you Knez Lazar he has grown so big a dog 
 since last you saw him." 
 
 But Lieutenant Pepitch shook his head. " I 
 must go, Andrija," he said. "It is late now, and 
 you know I leave very early to-morrow. I will see 
 Lazar another time because I shall come and see 
 you again, you know. I am not going to stay 
 very long in Paris, and then you shall come and see 
 my new biplane, and perhaps I will fly over in it 
 to see you." 
 
 " And truly, Andrija," said his aunt, " it is very 
 
 141 
 
TALES OF SERBIAN LIFE 
 
 kind indeed of Lieutenant Pepitch to waste his. time 
 talking to you, when there are so many other people 
 he must prefer to see. It is not every one would 
 spend a whole afternoon with a little boy who does 
 not know how to behave. 
 
 " You would hardly believe/' she continued, 
 turning to Pepitch, who stood, cap in hand, very 
 much perturbed while she said these things in 
 Andrija's hearing Andrij a who when Pepitch re- 
 membered him had never heard so much as a rough 
 word in his whole life " you would hardly believe 
 what trouble we have with this boy. I cannot 
 imagine what kind of a household my brother had in 
 Belgrade. He is like a little savage in some things." 
 
 Pepitch drew himself up rather stiffly. " The boy 
 was always good as I remember him, Gospodja," 
 he said, " and obedience itself to both Colonel 
 Lazaravitch and Madame Lazaravitch." 
 
 Aunt Olga sniffed disparagingly, for she detested 
 any praise of Andrija's mother. " Dushan should 
 have married one of his own countrywomen," she 
 said. " I have no patience with these foreign 
 marriages. The women may be well enough, but 
 they despise our good old Serbian ways, and they 
 have about as much idea of bringing up a child as 
 that pigeon yonder." 
 
 Pepitch looked at her warningly, and in a low 
 voice he said : "Be careful how you speak of the 
 child's mother in his presence, Gospodja. I cannot 
 make you understand what a household that was, 
 since you admit you scarcely knew Madame Lazara- 
 vitch. The boy worshipped her, and still does. I 
 142 
 
THE VILLA GOLUB 
 
 am sure, if you want to retain his affection pardon 
 my saying so it will be wise not to let him hear you 
 speak against her/' 
 
 Gospodja Stankovitch was very much annoyed by 
 what she called in her heart, though Pepitch had 
 spoken very politely and deferentially, ' his im- 
 pertinence/ and she answered very stiffly and in a 
 rather raised voice, so that Andrija, who had not 
 heard the first part of the conversation, could 
 scarcely avoid catching her remarks. 
 
 " I am sure I am tired of hearing about the boy 
 and his mother too. My brother handed him over 
 to me at a very inconvenient time, without as much 
 as a 'please/ and here I am saddled with the 
 responsibility of a growing lad, who is as foolish 
 about his father and his home as a lovesick girl is 
 over her betrothed. I declare his uncle and I slave 
 from morning till night to make him happy and 
 diligent, and all the thanks we ever get are black 
 looks and sullen tempers, and he expects to be 
 waited on like a little prince. My brother is a 
 wealthy man, but we are not rich, and there is 
 enough to do these days to keep a house going 
 without any additional worry/* 
 
 Pepitch shrugged his shoulders very slightly. 
 Evidently it was no use talking, and the only thing 
 to do was to leave Andrija to worry through the rest 
 of his time in Posharevats. But as he mounted his 
 horse and rode away with a salute to his host, who 
 came to the garden gate to see him off, he had a 
 parting glimpse of a woebegone little face peeping 
 out from the bushes at the bottom of the garden, 
 
 143 
 
TALES OF SERBIAN LIFE 
 
 and all the rest of the day and even when he had 
 gone back to Valievo he felt bothered and worried, 
 till he almost decided to write to Colonel Lazaravitch 
 and get him to think of some other plan for Andrija's 
 schooldays, till such time as they would be together 
 again. 
 
 Gospodja Stankovitch had to summon up a smile 
 to her face again after Pepitch had gone, though she 
 was still very angry, for other visitors arrived, and 
 she was busy looking after their wants and gossiping 
 with them. She did not miss Andrija, who had gone 
 out of the house and hidden himself in the garden, 
 for he did not want to see his aunt just then. He 
 had too much to think about, and he could not think 
 properly with all the noise in the house. Was it 
 true that his father was really going away ! And 
 how far was Paris from Posharevats ? Would he 
 go without coming to say good-bye to him? surely 
 not that ! Perhaps it was not true ; perhaps he had 
 only mistaken what Pepitch had said. Why had 
 Aunt Olga not wanted him to know that his father 
 was going to France ? 
 
 " I think the King ought to send someone else," 
 he said to himself, as he sat in the middle of a big 
 bush well hidden from sight of the house. " Pepitch 
 could take the message, I should think, while he is 
 in France and he must go, of course, because of the 
 new biplane. But I do not think I want Father to 
 go without me. To-night I shall ask Aunt Olga, 
 or to-morrow yes, I will wait till to-morrow, when 
 the Slava is over, and then I will make her tell me 
 what my father has said to her." 
 144 
 
THE VILLA GOLUB 
 
 For the rest of the day Andrija kept successfully 
 out of his aunt's way, and in the evening he went 
 with Ljubitsa to a neighbour's vineyard to gather 
 some grapes. It was a pleasant walk, up a long 
 slope planted on both sides with fruit trees, past the 
 white church, and along a winding stretch of country 
 road. The houses on either side were low and 
 thatch-roofed, some painted pink, others pale yellow. 
 There were cheerful ducks paddling joyously in the 
 green ditch that bordered the road, and every cottage 
 garden was gay with sunflowers and roses. As they 
 mounted the hill they could see the Danube glitter- 
 ing like a silver snake in the far distance, winding 
 in and out among the plains, and the sun shone like 
 a big ball of fire over the fields and woods. To the 
 left they could see the aerodrome where Pepitch had 
 first learnt his flying, and even as they looked a 
 monoplane with the colours of Serbia painted under 
 its white wings rose into the air and came circling 
 over the town. 
 
 " Look, Ljubitsa," cried Andrija excitedly, " look 
 at the monoplane ! Perhaps it is Pepitch having 
 a little fly here before he goes back ! See how low 
 she is coming look, she dips like a bird ! ' ; 
 
 Ljubitsa looked as she was told, but she was not 
 much interested in aeroplanes. 
 
 " I should like to fly," said Andrija wistfully. 
 " When I am a man I shall be an aviator as well 
 as a soldier, and I shall fly all kinds of aeroplanes 
 monoplanes and biplanes, and the kind that I have 
 never seen that is like a big sausage up in the air. 
 Pepitch tells me about them, and he says they can 
 K 145 
 
TALES OF SERBIAN LIFE 
 
 carry twenty, thirty, forty people, and are very 
 good to fight with. But I think I shall always like 
 a monoplane best, with a gun in it, of course." 
 
 Ljubitsa laughed rather scornfully. She was a 
 somewhat disagreeable child, very fond of ordering 
 the younger ones about, and she was rather annoyed 
 at being sent on this errand to gather grapes when 
 she wanted to stay and help to entertain the Slava 
 guests. 
 
 " I think you talk a great deal of nonsense, Andrija, 
 always," she said. " You will have to wait a great 
 many years before you can even think of being 
 an officer, and I dare say you will not even be able 
 to pass the examinations. My father says they are 
 growing more difficult every year, and you are not 
 very clever, you know. It is a pity you did not go 
 to school before." 
 
 Andrija frowned at her till his black eyebrows 
 almost met in the middle of his face. 
 
 " You are always cross, Ljubitsa," he remarked. 
 " I do not know why there are so many cross people 
 in the world : I never imagined there were so many 
 before I came to live in your house. In the Villa 
 Golub it is quarrel, quarrel all day and every day 
 too. Even on saints' days there is cross speaking." 
 
 Ljubitsa tossed her head. " It is because you are 
 such a disagreeable little boy," she said. " I am sure 
 we do not want you to live with us, but I have heard 
 my mother say that it is a charity to bring you up 
 in a civilized way after the silly ways you have been 
 accustomed to." 
 
 " They were not silly ways," shouted Andrija, 
 146 
 
THE VILLA GOLUB 
 
 very angry now, " and if you were not a girl I should 
 hit you, but my father would never let me hit a girl. 
 I don't think he can have meant cousins, though ; 
 perhaps they are different " this in a rather hopeful 
 voice, for Andrija found it very hard to keep his 
 temper with both Ljubitsa and Natalija when they 
 teased him, as they were rather fond of doing when 
 Uncle Bozhidar was not about. 
 
 " I should like to see you try to hit me ! " laughed 
 Ljubitsa aggravatingly ; " but you had better be 
 good, or Gospodja Hitch will tell mother what a 
 rude little boy her nephew is." 
 
 Andrija clenched his fists and swallowed hard, but 
 fortunately just then they turned the corner of the 
 lane leading up to Marko Hitch's vineyard, and his 
 wife was standing before the high locked gate to 
 let them in. 
 
 " Come in, children," she said, smiling at them 
 both, " and you shall gather your grapes now before 
 the dew falls. You are later than I thought to see 
 you." 
 
 :< It is because it is our Slav a," said Ljubitsa 
 importantly. " We have had so many guests that 
 I could not get away before. Mind you do not tear 
 your clothes on the thorn-bush, Andrija. You are 
 such a careless boy." 
 
 Andrija ran round to the other side of Ivanka 
 Hitch, who was a very big woman and made a kind 
 of tower between himself and Ljubitsa. He was tired 
 of looking at her, and still more tired of talking to 
 her, so he thought the best thing to do was to keep 
 out of her sight, which was rather sensible of him. 
 
 147 
 
TALES OF SERBIAN LIFE 
 
 ' There is a splendid crop this year," remarked 
 Ivanka Hitch, as she led the way up a narrow path 
 to the vineyard. " See how heavy the branches 
 hang ; and they are fine big grapes too none of 
 your little marbles that are half sour/' 
 
 Ljubitsa and Andrija were each laden with a big 
 basket, and in a very short time the baskets were 
 full to the brim with beautiful purple grapes, on the 
 top of which Ivanka laid some of the vine leaves so 
 that the fruit should not get dusty on the way down 
 the hill. 
 
 " And now," she said, " you must come down to 
 my house and drink some malina, for you must be 
 both tired and thirsty after your long walk." 
 
 Malina is a kind of sweet syrupy drink made from 
 raspberries, and all Serbian children are very fond 
 of it, so of course Andrija and Ljubitsa accepted the 
 invitation very politely and went down the fields 
 to the gay little cottage where Ivanka and her 
 husband lived. Every one liked Marko and Ivanka 
 Hitch, for they were such kind-hearted people, and 
 though they had no children of their own they under- 
 stood exactly what children liked, and so their 
 house was rarely without some boys or girls, popping 
 in and out like squirrels. The garden was always 
 full of flowers roses and carnations, sunflowers and 
 mallows, all blooming cheerily away together, and 
 over the cottage walls, which were coloured pink, 
 pretty creepers were allowed to twine and twist. 
 There was a little arbour covered with vines, and 
 inside was a table and a long bench. There the 
 children sat to drink their malina, while far below 
 148 
 
THE VILLA GOLUB 
 
 them they could see the smoke rising from the roofs 
 of Posharevats, and trace the silver streak of the 
 Danube in the distance. In the blue sky the aero- 
 plane still circled like a big swallow, turning and 
 twisting as if it enjoyed playing tricks high up in 
 the air, and Andrija presently, to Ljubitsa's horror, 
 lay down on his back on the grass and shaded his 
 eyes with his hands the better to watch it. In vain 
 she scolded and commented on his strange ways to 
 kind old Ivanka Hitch ; Andrija was deaf to all her 
 remarks indeed, he scarcely heard her, for he was 
 imagining that that was Ms aeroplane, and that it 
 was he who was cutting those delightful capers in the 
 blue sky. 
 
 But the sun was setting in a blaze of colour and 
 presently it would disappear from sight. It was 
 time to go back, for the twilight falls quickly in 
 Serbia and it was a long way to the Villa Golub. 
 So they shouldered their baskets of grapes and 
 how heavy they grew after they had walked a little 
 way ! and set off down the hill to Posharevats. 
 
 They found Natalija in bed when they got back- 
 she had eaten too many sweet cakes and made her- 
 self ill in consequence and Aunt Olga very quickly 
 packed the other two off after they had eaten their 
 supper. She was very tired after the long day, and 
 as tiredness in Aunt Olga's case generally meant 
 crossness as it often does with grown people, just 
 as with small ones Uncle Bozhidar had taken refuge 
 in a cafe, where he could smoke his cigarettes and 
 read his evening paper in peace. 
 
 On the second day of the Slava there were not 
 
 149 
 
TALES OF SERBIAN LIFE 
 
 quite so many people, but Andrija was obliged to 
 wait until they had gone before he could summon 
 up courage to bring forward the subject of his father's 
 journey. Aunt Olga, however, gave him an oppor- 
 tunity, for late in the evening, just as Uncle Bozhidar 
 was putting on his hat before going out as usual, she 
 stopped him by saying : 
 
 " Before you go, Bozhidar Stankovitch, I wish you 
 would write a letter for me to my brother. I am 
 really so tired that I cannot write properly, and if 
 it is not done to-night it cannot go to-morrow, and 
 after that it will be too late." 
 
 Uncle Bozhidar came back into the room, and 
 Andrija, who had been sitting on the floor studying 
 a book which had pictures of ships and engines in it, 
 looked up at him as he passed. 
 
 " Uncle Bozhidar/' he said, " why does my aunt 
 say it will be too late if she does not write to 
 my father to-morrow? Is it true that he is going 
 away ? ' 
 
 " Of course it is true, little listener that you are, 
 Andrija Lazaravitch, " said his aunt angrily. 
 
 " I did not listen," said Andrija equally angrily, " I 
 never do, but you talked to Lieutenant Pepitch when 
 I was there and I asked him if my father was going 
 away." 
 
 " Well, and if you have asked your Pepitch what 
 need to worry your uncle? " said Aunt Olga. " It 
 is question, question, question from morning till 
 night." 
 
 " Because Pepitch said it was not certain that he 
 would go," Andrija replied. " And I want to know." 
 
 150 
 
THE VILLA GOLUB 
 
 Then he turned to his uncle. " Tell me, Uncle 
 Bozhidar. I must know ! " he pleaded. 
 
 ' Yes, I think he will go, Andrija," said his uncle, 
 " but not for another ten days at least perhaps 
 more. He has many things to arrange/' 
 
 " Will he come and see me ? " asked the boy. 
 ' He must not go to Paris unless he comes to me 
 first." 
 
 " I am afraid there will be no time, Andrija/' said 
 his uncle, but very kindly, for he knew what the boy 
 would feel about the long separation. 
 
 " Do you suppose that a busy man like your father 
 can spend all his time running about the country 
 because a spoilt little boy wants to see him perpetu- 
 ally ? " cried Aunt Olga. 
 
 " Hush, Olga, hush, my wife I " said Bozhidar 
 Stankovitch. "It is not kind to speak like that. 
 But Andrija must remember that he is growing a 
 big boy now, and he must learn to be good and not 
 fret if he does not see his father." 
 
 Andrija stood by the table playing with his uncle's 
 gloves, which lay there. Suddenly he looked up. 
 
 " Then, Uncle Bozhidar, will you take me with 
 you in the train to see him ? I must say good-bye 
 to him if he must go. I know he's always busy, but 
 he would be pleased if we went to see him. Please, 
 please, Uncle Bozhidar, say we may go ! ' J 
 
 Aunt Olga looked at him with a very annoyed ex- 
 pression on her face. " Really, Andrija," she said, 
 " you have some of the most ridiculous ideas it is 
 possible for any boy to have in this world. Do ycru 
 really imagine that your uncle can spend his time 
 
TALES OF SERBIAN LIFE 
 
 travelling up and down the country with you for a 
 mere fad ? Do you know that journeys cost money, 
 much money ? And do you think money comes out 
 of the earth or drops from the sky ? Indeed, you 
 should be very thankful that you are cared for and 
 watched over as you are, for if you were left to your 
 own devices there is no telling where your wild ideas 
 would carry you/' 
 
 Andrija listened silently, then he turned again to 
 his uncle with rather an obstinate look on his face. 
 " May we go all the same, Uncle Bozhidar ? " he 
 said. " I have some money in my box, you know, 
 and we could buy the railway tickets with that. I 
 must see my father. Please, please, Uncle Bozhidar, 
 say that we may go ! " and here Andrija's voice 
 broke and he had hard work to keep a stiff upper lip. 
 Bozhidar Stankovitch looked helplessly round, first 
 at Andrija's stormy little face, then at his wife's 
 angry one. He was a very kind man, but he did 
 not know how to make Andrija understand that it 
 was impossible to take the boy so long a journey just 
 then. He himself was a very busy man, and his time 
 was valuable ; also he thought that if Colonel Lazara- 
 vitch had wanted to see his son he would either have 
 snatched a few days' leave, difficult as that might be, 
 or have sent a message saying that Andrija was to 
 be brought to him. What he did not know was that 
 Andrija's father was so filled with longing to see his 
 son that he really dared not see him, for he knew very 
 well that if he did he would never be able to send him 
 back, and he was honestly trying to do what he 
 thought wisest for the boy. 
 
 152 
 
THE VILLA GOLUB 
 
 Andrija waited a long time for his answer, while 
 Aunt Olga looked stonily out of the window, avoiding 
 her husband's eye, till at last he said : " I am sorry, 
 Andrija, but it is quite impossible for me to take you 
 you must be a good boy and try to be patient till 
 your father comes back. I am sure he would wish 
 you to be obedient to your aunt and myself/' 
 
 Andrija's eyes opened a little wider and his lips 
 quivered, but he said bravely enough : 
 
 " I have been good, I have been obedient for more 
 than a year. Please, please let me go and I will 
 always be good and never spoil my boots or ..." 
 Poor Andrija could not think of any more crimes 
 just then, so he stopped to see what the effect of his 
 last appeal would be. 
 
 But his uncle only shook his head, and Aunt Olga 
 gave a little unkind laugh at the boy's discomfiture. 
 That was the last straw for Andrija. He rushed out 
 of the room and down the steps, then out of the 
 garden, and ran like a little wild thing along the road 
 till he reached the open common. Then he flung 
 himself down under an oak-tree and sobbed as if his 
 heart would break. How could he wait any longer 
 to see his father ? It was long before his sobs ceased, 
 but in the end he sat up and dried his eyes ; then he 
 shut his mouth very tightly, for he had made a great 
 resolution. 
 
 Since neither his aunt nor his uncle would take 
 him to his father he would go by himself. " Nobody 
 shall know," he said to himself, " and nobody shall 
 stop me. I am big now, I am eight years old just, 
 and I have money in my little box if I can get it out. 
 
TALES OF SERBIAN LIFE 
 
 If there is not enough money to buy a ticket then I 
 shall walk. I can't take Svetko, because if I go in 
 the train he could not go with me and I am afraid 
 he would be stolen by somebody. I wish I could take 
 him, because he can run so quickly, but I think he 
 will have to stay behind. I shall write a letter to 
 Aunt Olga so that she will not think I have run away 
 for good I shall come back because I promised I 
 would stay ; but I must see Father before he goes to 
 France. Nobody shall stop me/' 
 
 He sat still on the short grass a little longer think- 
 ing very hard about the way he would go. " First I 
 shall open my box/' he said, " and take the money 
 for the ticket to the station. I do not suppose I 
 shall have enough to take me very far, because 
 journeys cost much money Uncle Bozhidar is always 
 saying that but I can go some way in the train, and 
 then walk the rest of the way. I must get some 
 food, but I dare say I shall meet kind people on the 
 way always up at Ban] a, when I was hungry, if we 
 walked in the mountains, the people in the villages 
 gave us as much cheese or kaimak as we wanted." 
 
 Then it occurred to Andrija that as the sun was 
 getting low in the sky he had better return to the 
 Villa Golub, and reluctantly he made his way back 
 to the house. No one was about as he entered, so 
 he went to his little room and hunted for the box 
 where he kept his small treasures. Yes ! there was 
 his money-box, but it was very difficult to open he 
 would have to break into it as best he could. He 
 had a big pen-knife which his father had given to 
 him as one of his last presents, and after a good deal 
 
 154 
 
THE VILLA GOLUB 
 
 of struggling and hacking he succeeded in prising 
 open the lid of the box and fishing out the little store 
 of money. 
 
 It was not very much really, but it seemed a great 
 deal to Andrija, and he counted out the copper coins 
 and the half dinara with great care and patience. 
 There was a big silver dinar and there was one five- 
 dinar piece, which was a great deal of money in 
 Andrija's eyes. 
 
 He put the money in a little leather purse he had, 
 and then put the purse into the pocket of his sailor 
 suit. How heavy it was ! Never mind, he would 
 soon give it to the man at the station, and his ticket 
 would not be very much to carry ! 
 
 There was not time to make any more preparations 
 for the journey, because just then Andrija heard 
 voices in the kitchen and smelt the supper cooking, 
 so he knew he had better go and find out what every 
 one was doing. 
 
 It seemed a long evening to Andrija, for he was 
 tired out, both with the excitement of the great ad- 
 venture he was planning and with the fit of crying, 
 which had made him feel as if he had been soundly 
 beaten. 
 
 Supper took a long time, but at least his aunt had 
 warned Ljubitsa and Natalija to take no notice of 
 the boy's red eyes and swollen eyelids, a piece of 
 thoughtfulness sufficiently rare on her part which 
 prevented any stormy scenes while supper was in 
 progress. Directly the children had finished Aunt 
 Olga turned to Andrija and addressed him in her 
 usual sharp manner : 
 
 155 
 
TALES OF SERBIAN LIFE 
 
 " Now, Andrija/' she said, " make haste and go to 
 bed, or you will be wanting to sleep all day to-morrow. 
 Say good night to your uncle, and do not forget that 
 you must put your dark suit on in the morning. / 
 cannot be having white ones washed continually, 
 whatever fancies my brother had on the subject/' 
 
 Andrija did not make any reply to this, but went 
 gravely to his uncle and aunt to wish them good 
 night ; then he passed out of the room, carefully 
 closing the door behind him. He had meant to make 
 all his little preparations that same night, but his 
 poor tired body and aching head would not let him 
 do anything but just tumble into bed, and as soon 
 as his head touched the pillow he was sound asleep, 
 holding fast his precious star, which was now one of 
 his greatest treasures. 
 
 156 
 
CHAPTER III : THE SEEKING 
 
 FOR a few minutes after Andrija awoke the 
 next morning he scarcely remembered that 
 this was the day on which he had planned 
 to start his great adventure. Then suddenly he sat 
 up in bed rubbing his eyes. " Hurrah ! " he cried 
 softly, " what a stupid I am to be lying in bed like 
 this ! I must get up and open my money-box so 
 that I can buy my ticket ! " And, jumping out of 
 bed, he ran to the drawer where he kept his treasures, 
 and then he remembered that, of course, he had 
 opened the money-box the night before. 
 
 " I must be dreaming awake, that is certain," he 
 thought, " or else I should never have forgotten that 
 I did it. Now I must write a letter to Aunt Olga, or 
 else to Uncle Bozhidar. yes, I will write it to him and 
 tell him that I am going, so that he will not think 
 I am lost. And if I ride Svetko to the station I can 
 fasten the letter to his saddle and send him back 
 he can find his way back because he knows it well." 
 And as soon as he had struggled into his clothes he 
 sat down on the floor and with a stumpy bit of pencil 
 he wrote the note to his uncle : 
 
 DEAR UNCLE BOZHIDAR, 
 
 Svetko will bring you this letter, because I am going in 
 the train to see my father, and I have taken the money out of my 
 box. I send you my love, and I wish you were coming too, but 
 I must go to see my father. Your nephew, 
 
 ANDRIJA 
 
 " There," he said when he had finished, " I think 
 that will do," and he stuffed the letter inside his 
 
 157 
 
TALES OF SERBIAN LIFE 
 
 sailor blouse. Just then Aunt Olga called him to 
 come and fetch his coffee from the kitchen, and he 
 ate as big a breakfast as he could, 'of bread and fruit, 
 " Because/' he said to himself, " 1 do not know if I 
 shall be able to buy much with my money/' 
 
 It was very difficult for Andrija, who was a frank 
 little person, and as a rule said everything that came 
 into his head, not to tell his uncle, at least, what 
 he was doing. But this one matter of going to his 
 father he felt was much too important to run the 
 risk of any interference, and grown-up people among 
 whom Andrija never counted his father and mother, 
 nor even Lieutenant Pepitch never understood any- 
 thing, even when a boy tried to explain as carefully 
 as possible. Whatever happened, Andrija meant to 
 see that adored father of his before he went to France, 
 and he felt convinced that if once Aunt Olga guessed 
 his plans he would be fastened in his room and for- 
 bidden to go out of the house. 
 
 So he munched his rolls and drank his coffee silently, 
 thinking all the time of what he would take with him. 
 His purse, of course, and some string, and his big 
 pen-knife, and a little bread, and some water in his 
 leather water-bottle, which he always carried on his 
 saddle when Svetko and he went out for a long ride. 
 Perhaps he had better not pump the water from their 
 own well, or his aunt would certainly ask him what 
 he was doing and where he was going ! 
 
 When breakfast was over he collected his little 
 parcels and stuffed them into his blouse, with a hand- 
 ful of dates and some chocolate that he had been 
 given by the Maryanovitches. Then he went quietly 
 
 158 
 
THE VILLA GOLUB 
 
 out of the house and out of the garden gate and 
 down to the stable where his pony was kept, which 
 was some little distance from the Villa Golub. His 
 father had taught him to saddle Svetko just before 
 he came to Posharevats, and the friendly stableman 
 helped him to tighten the stiff straps and buckles. 
 
 As he rode through the cobbled streets he met 
 several people he knew, but every one was so used 
 to seeing him with his shaggy friend that they just 
 smiled as he passed them and wished him a pleasant 
 ride. Soon he was out of the town and along the 
 straight white road which leads to Ossipaonitsa, the 
 little station some eight kilometres from Posharevats 
 which is the nearest point on the railway line. It 
 was still very early, and the morning was delightfully 
 fresh and cool. Andrija was so happy as 'he rode 
 along under the shade of the big oaks which border 
 the road that he sang lustily at the top of his voice, 
 a thing forbidden in the Villa Golub. 
 
 " Napred [' Forward '], Svetko/' he cried, " napred! 
 We must be there as soon as we can ; then when I am 
 in the big train which runs so quickly over the rails 
 3^ou must go home ; and do not be lonely without 
 me, for I shall soon come back/' And Svetko tossed 
 his shaggy head and quickened his trot as if he quite 
 understood all that his master was saying to him. 
 
 The road was full of ox-wagons bringing flour 
 from the station, but Svetko did not mind them and 
 he covered the ground very quickly, so that they were 
 soon in the dusty square with its two dingy kafanas 
 which overlooks the station at Ossipaonitsa. Andrija 
 jumped down and tied Svetko to the railings. 
 
 159 
 
TALES OF SERBIAN LIFE 
 
 " Wait there a little minute, Svetko," he said, 
 patting the pony's soft nose ; " you must carry a 
 letter for me ; but first wait till I buy the ticket/' 
 And he went inside the station gates looking quite 
 sure of himself, for he had been used to travelling by 
 train ever since he was a tiny child, and he had often 
 heard his father ask for the tickets. 
 
 Presently he came out again looking a little 
 anxious. " Svetko/' he said, rubbing his hand 
 against the pony's soft nose, " it seems to me that 
 the money I have will not go very far, and I could 
 only buy a ticket to Velika Plana, and what is to 
 come after I do not quite know. I can walk a long 
 way, it is true, and not get tired, and it is so warm 
 that I do not mind if I sleep under the stars. But 
 you must go home, Svetko, and tell Uncle Bozhidar 
 where I have gone." 
 
 And fastening the letter he had written to the 
 pony's saddle, he gave Svetko a sharp cut with his 
 little switch and told him to go home. Svetko did 
 not seem to know quite what to make of this prder 
 never before had his little master behaved so 
 strangely ; but he had been so trained by Colonel 
 Lazaravitch that he was obedient to every word of 
 command he understood, and after looking round 
 two or three times to see if his master really meant 
 what he said, he decided that obedience was the right 
 thing, and trotted slowly down the road as if hoping 
 to be called back. 
 
 Andrija did not stop to see him go, for when it 
 came to the point he felt he did not want to leave 
 Svetko, and he ran into the station and spelt out the 
 160 
 
THE VILLA GOLUB 
 
 notices inside the booking-office. Andrija did not 
 know much about the train service, but he was in 
 luck that day, for he had waited hardly ten minutes 
 when the train for Plana came in. 
 
 Once in the train he felt very excited and happy. 
 The compartment was empty except for a priest who 
 was reading a book, and Andrija sat very straight 
 in his corner and looked out of the window at the 
 country-side. He was beginning to feel hungry by 
 this time, so he pulled out his roll, saved from 
 breakfast-time, and eating with it some of the dates 
 with which he had provided himself he made a hearty 
 meal. The train did not go very quickly, and it 
 was three hours before Andrija, who had watched 
 the names of the stations very closely as they passed 
 them by, saw ' Velika Plana ' in staring white letters 
 written up over the booking-office. He was in such 
 a hurry to get out that he almost tumbled from the 
 high step. Picking himself up, he looked round the 
 station before he made up his mind what to do next. 
 
 Velika Plana Station is not a very big one, but it 
 is a junction where the trains for Belgrade and the 
 north-west of Serbia join the trains for the south. 
 Andrija's father was somewhere near Mladenovats, 
 which is a good many miles south of Plana, but 
 where exactly he was Andrija did not know. How- 
 ever, he was not a small boy who worried very much ; 
 he took things as they came ; and at all events he 
 was some little distance nearer to his journey's end. 
 It was very hot by this time, and the sun beat fiercely 
 down on the white dusty road outside the station. 
 There were many country people standing about, well 
 L 161 
 
TALES OF SERBIAN LIFE 
 
 laden with packages and baskets of fruit, and by 
 degrees they straggled away from the station in 
 little groups, some going straight down the long level 
 stretch of road that leads through the town, others 
 stopping to drink a glass of the fiery plum brandy 
 before they went on their way. 
 
 Andrija waited till almost the last one had gone, 
 then he crossed the road and sat down under a big 
 tree to think out his plans. 
 
 " That must be the way/' he said to himself, 
 nodding his head toward the main road, "for I 
 heard that old woman telling the boy that he must 
 not loiter so or they would never get to Palanka, 
 and Palanka, I know, comes before Mladenovats. 
 But how many kilometres it is I do not know, and it 
 is very hot. Still, I think I had better go to Palanka 
 before the night comes, or I shall never see the road. 
 I wish I had brought Svetko. I do not like these 
 dull roads ; they will take me so long to walk." 
 Andrija, however, still sat under the big tree, and 
 as the sun was very hot and the road very empty, 
 so that there was nothing exciting to watch, very 
 soon his eyes closed and his head began to nod and he 
 fell fast asleep in the shade. When he woke the sun 
 was beginning to cast long shadows, and though he 
 could not tell the time very well, he knew by the 
 empty feeling inside him that it must be late after- 
 noon. He jumped up very quickly-then, and began 
 running down the long white road. He was beauti- 
 fully rested after his long nap, and it was such fun 
 to be out quite by himself that for a long time he 
 forgot to be hungry, and he got over the ground at 
 162 
 
THE VILLA GOLUB 
 
 quite a good pace for a boy of eight. Presently the 
 run steadied down to a walk, and the packet of 
 chocolate had to come out to fill up some of the gap 
 within ; but he did not sit down to eat it, for, as 
 he said wisely to himself, " if I am always sitting 
 down to rest it will take me a month of walking to 
 reach Mladenovats, and then maybe my father will 
 have gone to France/' 
 
 And when the evening began to draw on and the 
 sun to dip lower behind the hills, he was obliged to 
 tell himself this very often or else his weary little 
 legs would not have carried him any farther ! Still 
 Andrija was not his father's son for nothing, and 
 though by the time it grew dark he was woefully 
 tired and there was no sign of Palanka, he kept a 
 stiff upper lip and pretended that he was a soldier 
 marching against his enemies. All the same, when 
 the last bit of colour had gone out of the sky and the 
 night had fallen with the suddenness that it does in 
 Serbia (which has no soft twilight), Andrija began to 
 feel just a little forlorn. He was really very hungry, 
 and bread and dates even coupled with delicious 
 chocolate are not altogether satisfying to a small 
 person who is used to two good cooked meals a day. 
 Also it was really very lonely out there he did not 
 know in the least how far he was from Palanka, 
 and there was not even the sign of a friendly cottage 
 on the way. Earlier in the afternoon he had passed 
 some small villages, but he had gone quickly through 
 them, and now he was quite out in the open country. 
 Andrija was not a bit afraid of the dark, but he did 
 wish there was somebody near to talk to, and now 
 
 163 
 
TALES OF SERBIAN LIFE 
 
 it was so dark that he could scarcely see his way 
 along the road. Soon the stars would light their 
 lamps and then it would be better. " I think I must 
 go to sleep somewhere," he said but under his 
 breath, for now that the night had come he did not 
 like to hear his own voice very much in the quiet 
 of the sleeping country-side. And when the stars 
 had begun to show he picked his way from the road 
 itself to a little clump of oak-trees under which last 
 year's leaves still lay thickly. It was very warm and 
 the leaves were quite dry, so Andrija with a little 
 sigh wriggled down into their thickness until they 
 made a sort of feather bed for him, and lay for a long 
 time, his chin in his hand, staring up at the wonderful 
 sky. A star -lit night in Serbia is very beautiful. 
 The stars there shine with extraordinary brilliancy, 
 and there are always shooting stars darting from one 
 part of the heavens to the other or flashing down 
 as it were to bury themselves in the earth. The 
 Serbs believe that every shooting star is either the 
 soul of a little child coming to live on earth, or else 
 the soul of a dead person going up to heaven, and 
 every person is supposed to have his own particular 
 star in the sky. So Andrija watched the stars with 
 fascinated eyes, for he had never before been out so 
 late in the whole of his life, and therefore he had 
 never seen all the sky's beauty. 
 
 Presently the moon rose too, making a silver 
 streak along the road and casting tall shadows 
 from the oak-trees under which he lay. It was 
 really quite difficult to go to sleep with all these 
 beautiful things to watch. Away in the distance, 
 164 
 
THE VILLA GOLUB 
 
 too, where there must have been some marshy land, 
 Andrija could see the fire-flies flitting. Near at hand J 
 the glow-worms lit their lamps and the cheerful 
 croaking of the frogs in the little trickling rivulet 
 beyond the belt of trees made a sort of companion- 
 able music for him, so that he no longer felt lonely 
 or the least bit afraid, and presently he was just as 
 soundly sleeping as if he had been in his own bed at 
 the Villa Golub. 
 
 But in his uncle's house was a great hue and cry ! 
 When Svetko got home he walked straight into his 
 own stable, and it was some hours before the letter 
 which Andrija had written was found and taken to 
 the Villa Golub. How Aunt Olga raged and Uncle 
 Bozhidar scolded ! Yet it was more from worry 
 than from crossness, for indeed they were both very 
 anxious about the boy. Where he could have gone 
 and how they could not understand, for it never 
 occurred to either of them to think that Andrija 
 had simply ridden to the station and left by the next 
 train, and of course Svetko could not speak. Uncle 
 Bozhidar sent people off in every direction, thinking 
 that a small boy of eight could not walk very far 
 without being seen, but no one knew the way the 
 boy had gone, and though several people had seen 
 him riding through the town, it so happened that 
 no one had actually noticed his taking the turning 
 for Ossipaonitsa. 
 
 So while all that evening they searched in vain, 
 and both Uncle Bozhidar and Aunt Olga spent an 
 anxious, sleepless night, Andrija was calmly sleeping 
 under the stars, and the next day when they were 
 
 165 
 
TALES OF SERBIAN LIFE 
 
 vainly continuing their search he was well on his 
 way (but oh ! such a hungry boy was Andrija !) 
 toward Palanka. 
 
 At the first village he came to he made for the 
 nearest house in search of breakfast. And what a 
 puzzle he was to the good woman who let him share 
 her children's slices of maize bread and slabs of 
 goat's cheese, washed down with warm milk ! Of 
 course she wanted to know all about him who he 
 was and where he had come from and where he was 
 going ; and the more she heard the more puzzled 
 she was ! Andrija could only tell her that he was 
 going to see his father, and that his father was with 
 his soldiers somewhere near Mladenovats but more 
 than that he could not tell her, for he himself really 
 did not know ! 
 
 The good peasant woman shook her head over 
 his tale. It was plain to see that a boy dressed in 
 such good clothes as Andrija wore ought not to be 
 wandering about the country by himself. Andrija, 
 of course, knew better than to offer her money for 
 his breakfast no Serb peasant, however poor, would 
 dream of taking money from a traveller ; but when 
 she pressed eggs ready boiled and a slab of maize 
 bread into his pockets he pulled his treasured knife 
 out of his little case and thrust it into the hands 
 of her small son, running off at top speed after- 
 ward as if he were afraid she would make him take 
 it back. 
 
 It was hard to part with that beautiful knife- 
 but what was he to do ? For Andrija had been well 
 drilled by his father in good manners, and he had, 
 166 
 
THE VILLA GOLUB 
 
 moreover, generous instincts like every Serb, who 
 would rather share his last bit of crust with you than 
 see you go hungry, and who would really prefer 
 to see you eat it all up by yourself while he .sat 
 fasting ! 
 
 It was not difficult to find the way to Palanka, 
 for the road ran practically straight, and by five 
 o'clock of the second day of his wanderings Andrija 
 had reached the little town and his tired feet were 
 tramping over the cobble-stones of its narrow streets. 
 
 So far so good, but he was now very weary and he 
 did not want to go away from Palanka till the day- 
 light came. But where was he to go and how should 
 he find a bed to sleep in ? For a little time he 
 wandered up and down, looking at the shops and 
 wishing his father were there instead of in far-away 
 Mladenovats, and for the first time he began to think 
 regretfully of the Villa Golub. A stray tear trickled 
 down his cheek, and that brought Andrija up with 
 a jerk. 
 
 " Surely I am not a baby/' he said to himself, 
 " a tiny baby who cries if it is hurt ? I am a big 
 boy, and big boys do not cry I am going to my 
 father, and soon I shall be there ! Perhaps it will 
 take me two more days, or maybe three, but I do 
 not care. I shall still be there in time. And to- 
 morrow night I shall sleep away from a town it is 
 too lonely here. I wonder why it is more lonely 
 with so many people than in the fields and the woods 
 where no one comes ? That is very funny/' Andrija 
 had a habit of thinking out loud, as many children 
 have who are accustomed to play by themselves a 
 
 167 
 
TALES OF SERBIAN LIFE 
 
 good deal, and his words attracted the attention of 
 an old jeweller, who was sitting by -his open shop 
 door before a little table strewn with his tools, so 
 that while he was busy with his work he might get 
 a breath of the cool evening air. 
 
 Andrija had been leaning against the window 
 several minutes, staring into the shop as he was 
 thinking aloud, but not seeing anything or anyone 
 all the same. But the old man had been watching 
 him nevertheless, and now he looked up and smiled 
 rather pleasantly at the boy. 
 
 " Would you like to buy one of my little chains ? " 
 he said, holding up as he spoke a fine silver watch- 
 chain which he had been mending. " They are 
 very cheap, and would suit a little gentleman like 
 yourself/' 
 
 Andrija shook his head. " I have not enough 
 money/' he said ; " I have only six dinara left, and 
 those I want to pay for my food, because I am 
 walking a long way/' 
 
 The old jeweller looked rather puzzled. 
 
 " You do not live in Palanka/' he said, "for I 
 have never seen you before, and I know all the boys 
 and girls in this town they all come to my shop to 
 see me mend my watches/' 
 
 Andrija shook his head. " No, I live or I used 
 to live with my father in Belgrade, but now it is 
 with Aunt Olga in Posharevats and I am going to 
 see my father, so that is how I am in Palanka." 
 
 " So your father is in Palanka," said the old man 
 in rather a relieved tone. " I see, you are going 
 home now." 
 168 
 
THE VILLA GOLUB 
 
 Andrija frowned and sighed rather impatiently. 
 How stupid grown-up people were at times ! One 
 had to explain the simplest things to them in half 
 a dozen ways before they understood. Still he could 
 see the old jeweller meant to be kind, for he spoke 
 in a friendly way, so Andrija answered as politely 
 as his very tired little body would let him. 
 
 "No," he explained patiently, "my father is a 
 colonel, so he has to be with the regiment, which is 
 at Mladenovats, but soon he is going to France on 
 a mission for the King, so I had to go and see him. 
 Uncle Bozhidar could not take me, so I am going 
 alone." 
 
 " Alone ? " echoed the old man, " from Posharevats 
 to Mladenovats ? Why, that is a great journey, and 
 now you are scarcely more than half your way." 
 
 Andrija's eyes filled with tears despite all his 
 efforts. He was so tired, and he had thought that 
 now he was at Palanka the worst of the journey was 
 over. How ever could he get to his father before he 
 went to France if it was going to take all that time 
 to walk ? 
 
 The old jeweller saw his trouble, but he pretended 
 not to see the tears, and going on with his work and 
 not looking up at Andrija at all he said at last very 
 gently : . " Suppose you stop the night here with me, 
 since you are not going anywhere else ? No ? ' 
 he asked, looking this time at the boy, who shook 
 his head. 
 
 " No, I am not going to anyone's house," he got out. 
 
 " Then all is well," said old Boris Boyovitch, the 
 jeweller. " Here is my little house behind my shop, 
 
 169 
 
TALES OF SERBIAN LIFE 
 
 and we will have supper together, and afterward 
 you shall sleep, for indeed you must be very tired. 
 It is not every one's son who would walk so far to 
 see his father." 
 
 And certainly Andrija was far too tired to argue, 
 so when the jeweller began to shut up his shop he 
 followed him inside without a word and sat down on 
 a wooden chair in the inner room while his host 
 bustled about making his frugal supper ready. 
 
 Andrija was so hungry that even dry bread would 
 have been welcome, but Boris Boyovitch gave him 
 delicious onion soup, and afterward some fine sweet 
 cakes made of honey ; and the boy was more than 
 ready, when once his hunger was satisfied, to curl 
 himself up on the little bed that his kind old host 
 made ready for him beside his own. Boris covered 
 him up with his old military cloak, and Andrija was 
 soon fast asleep, too tired even to think about his 
 father. He slept for a couple of hours without even 
 stirring, but at the end of that time the sound of 
 voices wakened him. He did not open his eyes, but 
 lay drowsily listening to the hum without any con- 
 sciousness of what was being said, until a remark of 
 Boyovitch's made him as wide awake as if he had 
 never thought of sleep. 
 
 " Yes," the old man was saying to one of the two 
 younger men who were sitting with him round the 
 stove, " they will indeed be distressed when they 
 find he has gone. Before he slept he spoke his 
 father's name, and it is none other than the son of 
 Dushan Lazaravitch himself. It has troubled me 
 much as to what I should do." 
 170 
 
THE VILLA GOLUB 
 
 " There is only one thing to do," said one of the 
 men in a decided voice. " Word must be sent to the 
 father that he is here, and the boy must be kept till 
 his father comes. Harm may befall him if he goes 
 wandering up and down the country/' 
 
 " I do not think that a wise thing to do," said 
 the other visitor. " Rather the boy should be sent 
 back to Posharevats like enough they are beating 
 the country for him. We are not certain where 
 Dushan Lazaravitch is nor if this be indeed his son. 
 It would be a pretty wild-goose chase to bring a 
 man fifty miles out of his way to the wrong child 
 nice fools we should look, and good thanks get for 
 our pains." 
 
 Old Boris Boyovitch nodded his head. " I am in 
 agreement with you, neighbour," he said to the last 
 speaker. " I believe it would be better first to find 
 out exactly who the uncle is who has charge of the 
 little lad, and then either to take the boy to the 
 train and send him back, or bid the uncle come to 
 Palanka and take him home." 
 
 ' ' And what will you do with him in the meantime ? " 
 asked the younger man. 
 
 " Why, he must stay with me and be as contented 
 as he can," said the jeweller. " I am a poor man 
 and it is not much that I can give him, but it will 
 be better than he could get wandering the country- 
 side. But- I am sure you are right, and he must 
 be sent back under safe care it will be better 
 by far." 
 
 Andrija lay on his pile of rugs, his heart beating as 
 though he were going to suffocate. He did not dare 
 
 171 
 
TALES OF SERBIAN LIFE 
 
 to move or speak. So they were going to keep him 
 there till Uncle Bozhidar could come and he would 
 never be allowed to see his father perhaps even now 
 he would be too late. He clenched his fists under the 
 old greatcoat that he might not scream out. What 
 should he do ? How should he get away ? Would 
 old Boyovitch try to keep him if he told him how 
 badly, how terribly badly, he wanted to get to his 
 father ? Poor Andrija ! He lay there for what 
 seemed like an eternity, one little plan after another 
 coming into his small brain, and he thought that 
 never, never would the strangers go away. Pres- 
 ently, however, they got up and said good-night, 
 and old Boyovitch, bolting the clumsy door after 
 them, by and by blew out the lamp and, treading 
 very softly, so that he might not disturb the appar- 
 ently sleeping child, crept into bed. 
 
 Andrija lay wide awake, however, staring into the 
 darkness and trying to decide what to do. " Shall 
 I get up and try to unbolt the door ? " he thought. 
 " No, that won't do. I should fall over something, 
 or upset that table with the little tools on and they 
 would make a noise. Besides, I do not think I could 
 unfasten those big bolts his hands are much bigger 
 than mine and he had to take two hands to fasten the 
 lower one. But what shall I do ? If I go to sleep 
 now it will be daylight before I get up, and then he 
 will make me stay with him. Oh, I am so sleepy I 
 shall never keep awake, and I must think of some- 
 thing ! " 
 
 But, struggle as he might to keep awake, the 
 thoughts that chased each other like so many squirrels 
 172 
 
THE VILLA GOLUB 
 
 through Andrija's brain soon became foggier and 
 foggier, and in spite of all his efforts he was soon fast 
 asleep again by the side of the unconscious Boyovitch. 
 
 Andrija was a healthy boy, he had been out in the 
 open air all day walking hard, and sleep was his 
 master, little as he wanted it to be. So that it was 
 five o'clock and broad daylight before he opened his 
 eyes again, and when he did it was to see old Boyo- 
 vitch bending over him, a cup of steaming coffee in 
 his hand and a beaming smile on his face. 
 
 " Ah ! you have slept better in my little house 
 than you thought, eh, little Gospodin?" laughed 
 the old man. Andrija sat up and rubbed his eyes. 
 Where was he ? Then he remembered, stood up, and 
 said good-morning very politely before he took the 
 cup of coffee from the kind old man's hand. 
 
 " Thank you, Gospodin Boyovitch," he said; 
 " and when I have eaten my bread I will say Zbogom 
 to you, for I must go a long way to-day/' 
 
 Old Boyovitch cleared his throat in an embarrassed 
 sort of way. " Do not be in so great a hurry, little 
 one," he said. " I do not like to think that you are 
 leaving me so soon. It is not fit, moreover, that 
 Dushan Lazaravitch's son- if indeed you are he- 
 should be wandering the roads like a gipsy lad. 
 He would not be pleased ; for I am certain you have 
 not told him that you are coming to him/' 
 
 Andrija threw back his head rather proudly at this. 
 " That is for my father to say," he said. " But you 
 do not understand. I must go, and go to-day/' 
 
 Old Boyovitch scratched his bald head. Here 
 was a problem. How was he to keep the boy with 
 
TALES OF SERBIAN LIFE 
 
 him till word could be sent to the uncle ? whose 
 other name indeed he did not know yet ! 
 
 " Well, well, we will see," he said at last; " but 
 meanwhile you shall guard the shop for me while I 
 go to market, and if anyone comes you can tell them 
 I will be back soon." 
 
 This was an awkward corner for Andrija ! He 
 could not leave the shop to take care of itself when 
 the old jeweller had trusted him, for he knew that 
 would be a thing his father would never forgive, yet 
 how was he going to get away ? And when old Boris 
 Boyovitch, smiling to himself at the thought of his 
 own cleverness, had gone down the street, his big 
 basket on his arm, Andrija sat on the floor, a very 
 puzzled and bewildered little boy indeed. 
 
 " There is no help for it," he said at last. " I 
 must just wait until he is busy with something else, 
 and then I must run. If I don't he will keep me here 
 all the time until Uncle Bozhidar comes, and then I 
 shall never see my father." 
 
 Boris did his shopping very quickly. He looked 
 rather sharply round as he came back into the shop, 
 almost as if he expected to see no little boy there, 
 and he seemed much relieved when Andrija politely 
 got up from his little wooden chair. 
 
 ' There is a good and careful boy," he said approv- 
 ingly ; " and nobody has been ? ' 
 
 " No, Gospodin Boyovitch," answered the boy. 
 r< I just waited here, but every one has gone to 
 market like you with their big baskets." 
 
 ' That is good ; and now I will put away the things 
 I have bought," said Boris ; " afterward I will show 
 174 
 
THE VILLA GOLUB 
 
 you the works of these watches that I have been 
 given to mend, and you shall see how I make the old 
 ones like new/' 
 
 Now at any other time this would have been a 
 great treat for Andrija, for the old watchmaker was 
 as good as his word and showed the boy all his 
 treasures and explained very carefully how he did 
 his work. But Andrija was in such a fever of im- 
 patience to continue his journey that I am afraid 
 much of the old man's explanation simply went in 
 at one ear and out again at the other ! Dinner-time 
 came and they ate together in the inner room, and 
 then oh, joy ! Boyovitch's eyes closed and he began 
 to nod in his chair 1 It was very hot that day, and 
 even in the little dark house the heat was intense. 
 Andrija waited breathless!}/ till he was quite 
 certain that the old man was really sleeping, then he 
 noiselessly kicked off his shoes, and tiptoeing cau- 
 tiousty across the floor, he reached the shop without 
 a sound. Then he wondered how he should show 
 the old man, who had really been very kind to him, 
 that he had only gone away like that because he had 
 to go to find his father. " If there was time I would 
 write a letter," he thought, " but I cannot stop, and 
 it takes me quite a long time to write nicely. I will 
 leave him my little picture, because that is the thing 
 I like best, and I only have dinars beside." And 
 though it went to his heart to give up his little ikon 
 with the picture of St John, his patron saint, painted 
 on the gold in beautiful colours, yet his early training 
 held good, and with a sigh he unfastened the little 
 gold chain and laid the picture face downward so 
 
 175 
 
TALES OF SERBIAN LIFE 
 
 that he might not see St John's kind eyes looking 
 up at him reproachfully for giving him away. 
 
 Then just as noiselessly he ran out of the shop 
 and down the street. It was the hour when Palanka 
 was wrapped in slumber, and there was no one to 
 look at the funny little figure in its sailor suit and 
 stockinged feet flying down the road at breakneck 
 speed. Every one was asleep in his house, or within, 
 the shade of his shop even the dogs were at rest, 
 lying under the shelter of the trees in the square by 
 the fountain, their tongues hanging out and their 
 tails lazily waving from time to time to keep the 
 flies away. On and on Andrija ran till he was clear 
 of the town and safe from pursuit, till he was so 
 hot that he was forced to throw himself down on a 
 friendly stretch of shady roadside grass and lie like 
 any little puppy panting for breath ! The fact that 
 he had taken quite the wrong way through the town 
 did not occur to him ; indeed he was so pleased with 
 himself for getting away from old Boyovitch that he 
 never thought at all about the road he was on ! 
 
 So he tramped along sturdily, singing to himself, 
 and once again the night came down and a supper- 
 less little boy slept under the stars. That was all 
 very well, but before the dawn the rain came down, 
 and it was a very wet Andrija that took the road 
 again that morning very wet and very empty. He 
 still had five dinars, but what use were they when 
 the kilometres lengthened out before him and there 
 was never a sign to be seen of town or village, or 
 even of a solitary cottage where he might seek his 
 breakfast ? 
 176 
 
THE VILLA GOLUB 
 
 For the first time since he had started out on his 
 quest Andrija's stout little heart utterly failed him. 
 " It is the longest road I have ever seen/' he said as 
 he tramped along, the water trickling from his sodden 
 sailor hat down the back of his neck. " And oh, 
 how my legs ache ! I think I shall never be able 
 to walk all this day, and still I do not think I am 
 near Mladenovats. I shall ask when I see a house/' 
 And on he tramped till, at last oh, joyous sight ! 
 there was a solitary wooden house, quite a tiny one, 
 with a disconsolate goat browsing in the wet patch 
 of garden that lay round it. He went up to the door 
 and called out in his clear boy's treble : " Is there 
 anyone at home ? Can I enter ? " but there was no 
 answer. Pushing the door open, he was just about 
 to go inside when a big, evil-looking dog came 
 silently round the corner and began to bark 
 furiously. With that a sullen-looking man limped 
 round from the back of the house. He was very 
 lame and had an angry voice. 
 
 " What do you want ? ' he asked gruffly very 
 much to Andrija's surprise, for nearly every one in 
 Serbia is kind to a traveller and very few people 
 would speak angrily to a child. 
 
 " I want the road to Mladenovats/' answered 
 Andrija, boldly enough, however, "and I would like 
 some breakfast ; I am very hungry." 
 
 " This is not the road to Mladenovats/' said the man, 
 as crossly as before ; " you are two hours and more 
 out of your way you should have turned by the forked 
 trees. And as for food, there is not much in the 
 house, for I am going out of it to-morrow to Palanka." 
 M 177 
 
TALES OF SERBIAN LIFE 
 
 " I have some money ; I can pay for it," said 
 Andrija. If he had known, this was a foolish thing 
 to say, for every one for miles around Palanka knew 
 Milosh, the crazy miser, and as he heard the word 
 ' money ' his eyes glittered. 
 
 "Oh, that is a different tale," he muttered. 
 " I am very poor, and you see I am lame, but 
 I will sell you some cheese and bread and some 
 goat's milk. And what are you doing on the roads 
 alone ? " 
 
 Andrija's heart went down into his boots. It was 
 bad enough to know that he was whole kilometres 
 out of his way, but now there was this other person 
 worrying about him. 
 
 " I am going to Mladenovats to find my father," 
 he answered, " and I am in a hurry. Give me, please, 
 the food, and I will pay for it and go." 
 
 " Not so fast, little master ! " sneered the lame 
 man. " I shall have to ask you some more questions 
 first, and you will go when I think it is time, or my 
 dog here will have something to say he does not 
 like strangers, as you can tell by his growl." 
 
 Andrija had to sit down on the bench outside the 
 hut, for the man shut the door after him when he 
 went in to fetch the bread and cheese, and it seemed 
 a long time before the goat was milked and he could 
 eat the simple meal put before him. While he ate the 
 dog sat in front of him with a wicked look in the corner 
 of its wolfish eyes. Andrija was not afraid of dogs 
 as a rule, but this one stubbornly refused to make 
 friends. When he had eaten his breakfast he got 
 up to go, and pulled out his little purse to pay the 
 
THE VILLA GOLUB 
 
 lame man and perhaps out of a hundred people in 
 the country parts of Serbia you would find just one 
 who would let you pay for a meal, even if you were 
 quite a stranger to them. 
 
 The lame man looked at the purse with greedy eyes. 
 Andrija held up two dinars. " Is that enough ? " he 
 asked. " I did not eat very much bread, and if I give 
 you more I shall not be able to get any dinner/' 
 
 The lame man shook his head. " No/' he said; 
 ' I must have all that is in your purse, and in 
 return I will tell you a short way to the Mladenovats 
 road." 
 
 Andrija was very indignant. " I cannot give you 
 all my money/' he said. " I will give you three, 
 though it is a great deal of money, but two I must 
 keep. I think you are a bad man." 
 
 The lame man held out his hand, with a queer 
 smile on his face. " Very well, give me the three," 
 he said ; " and now go straight up the road till you 
 find a place where four paths join. Take the one to 
 the left and you will come to the big road that goes 
 to Mladenovats, but it is still a good two days from 
 here." 
 
 Andrija did not listen much even to this, he was 
 in such a hurry to get away from this man, and put- 
 ting down the three dinars on the bench he walked 
 as quickly as he could down the road. He had not 
 gone a hundred yards, however, before he heard a 
 soft pattering behind him. Rather scared, he looked 
 over his shoulder. There at his heels was the wolfish 
 dog. Andrija was terrified, but the dog without mak- 
 ing a sound set its teeth in his trousers and began, 
 
 179 
 
TALES OF SERBIAN LIFE 
 
 quite gently, to tug him backward. He did not hurt 
 Andrija at all, but it was no use trying to get away, 
 and it was very easy to understand that the dog 
 meant him to go back to the hut, where the lame 
 man still stood in the rain watching them both with 
 a grin on his ugly face. It was all Andrija could do 
 not to scream, for he was really terrified now. What 
 was the lame man going to do ? would he tell the 
 dog to bite him ? Oh, how miserable he was, and 
 how he longed for his father ! But when the dog 
 had half led, half dragged him to the garden gate, 
 the lame man only laughed again. 
 
 " So, my little master ! Not so fast ! I have 
 taught you a little lesson, I think. Another time old 
 Milosh bids a little boy do as he is told perhaps he 
 will be more obedient. Give me the money that 
 is all I want. I have had my pleasure out of you. 
 Now you will know that I meant what I said. Quick 
 hand it over, and my dog shall let you go. He 
 always does just as I tell him." 
 
 Andrija ptilled out his purse and threw it down ; 
 then in spite of himself he began to sob. 
 
 " You bad, bad man ! " he cried. " Now I have not 
 anything at all, and I shall perhaps die of hunger ! " 
 
 But the lame man only laughed the more, and 
 calling his dog to him he went into the house and 
 shut the door behind him with a clatter. Andrija 
 heard him still laughing as he stood sobbing in the 
 rain ; then, realizing that he was free, he raced out 
 of the garden and along the road, stopping every now 
 and then to look over his shoulder to make sure that 
 the dog was not coming after him. But the road 
 180 
 
THE VILLA GOLUB 
 
 was quite empty ; and soon the rain stopped and the 
 sun began to shine. On went little weary Andrija, 
 stumbling with fatigue, till at midday he saw before 
 him the streets of a small town, the name of which 
 he did not know. He was too tired even to think 
 about dinner, and finding a shady corner near the 
 little church he threw himself down on the grass 
 and went to sleep. He woke refreshed, but rather 
 desperate, for his father seemed as far off as ever, and 
 if what the lame man had said was true, who could 
 he ever walk another two days ? Already his brown 
 feet were blistered and sore. There was little to dis- 
 tinguish him now from any ragged townsboy, for his 
 suit was stained and torn, his hat was a pulp from 
 the morning's rain, he had left his boots in Palanka, 
 and altogether he looked as disreputable a little 
 object as could be imagined. Nevertheless he was 
 still undismayed, and after persuading a fat old 
 market woman to give him some bread and apples, 
 he prepared to take the road again. But Fate, in the 
 shape of a stray puppy, .prevented him. Serbians 
 are not, generally speaking, very fond of dogs : they 
 keep them to guard their sheep and prevent the cattle 
 from straying, but they rarely make household pets 
 of them, much preferring cats to the prettiest of 
 puppies. This one which Andrija saw had evidently 
 been lost, and three urchins were engaged in teasing 
 and tormenting the poor little beast, which had a 
 tin can tied to its tail and was vainly trying to break 
 away from its persecutors and rid itself of the hated 
 thing. Now Andrija, like his French mother, adored 
 dogs, and at the sight of this his fighting blood was 
 
 181 
 
TALES OF SERBIAN LIFE 
 
 up. The boys were bigger than he was, but he did 
 not stop to think about that small matter, and going 
 up to the group he pushed his way forward to the 
 dog and began to unfasten the tin can. 
 
 "Leave the dog alone ! " cried the biggest of the 
 three boys. " He isn't yoursleave him alone, I 
 say." 
 
 " Put that down," cried another, " or I'll make 
 you ! " 
 
 Andrija grabbed the dog more tightly to him. 
 " You sha'n't touch him," he cried. " He isn't 
 your dog and he isn't mine, but if he hasn't got a 
 home / shall have him." 
 
 The boys looked at him threateningly. " You'll 
 have to fight for him," they shouted, furious because 
 their amusement was being interfered with by this 
 urchin in his sailor clothes, at which they jeered and 
 pointed. 
 
 "I'll fight you" Andrija said, pointing to the 
 middle one of the three, " but I can't fight the big 
 one." 
 
 " Oh, baby, can't you ? " jeered the three together, 
 and one of them made a grab at the dog, free by now 
 of his can. Andrija, although a sturdy youngster for 
 his eight years, was no match for the three, all 
 of whom were older than himself, but at this new 
 attempt to get at the poor puppy he ' saw red ' 
 and made for the nearest one like a little fury. 
 Soon a glorious fight was in progress and all four 
 were mixed up together in a tangle of arms and 
 legs. Before long, however, poor Andrija was very 
 obviously getting the worst of it. Still he held on 
 182 
 
THE VILLA GOLUB 
 
 manfully, though his face was bruised and bleeding, 
 his breath was coming in little spurts, and he could 
 hardly see. 
 
 In another minute he would have been down for 
 good already he had had two falls, but had picked 
 himself up and started in again. Now, however, 
 he was almost done, when suddenly a tall figure 
 loomed down on the little group and a strong hand 
 picked the biggest boy up by his collar and shook 
 him like a rat. 
 
 ' What are you lads doing ? " asked a stern voice. 
 " And aren't you ashamed to be fighting like this, 
 one against three ? Whatever your quarrel is, I am 
 surprised to see Serbian boys behaving like cowards." 
 
 Between his puffings and pan tings Andrija could 
 hardly distinguish the voice that was speaking, much 
 less make any answer ; then the look of utter amaze- 
 ment on the tall officer's face suddenly showed him 
 who it was. 
 
 With a yell of " Pepitch ! " he disentangled himself 
 from the embrace of his smallest antagonist and 
 hurled his muddy person against the smart tunic 
 of the young flying man. 
 
 " Good heavens, Andrija ! what in the name of 
 fortune has brought you here ? And, boy, for any 
 sake keep off my tunic ! Do you imagine I have 
 money enough to buy a new one every day ? ' 
 Pepitch was so utterly amazed that for once he 
 forgot to smile, and poor Andrija fell from rapture 
 to dismay. He gulped down a sob as he answered : 
 
 " I am sorry if I muddied you, Lieutenant Pepitch, 
 but I had to fight for my puppy. You must save 
 
 183 
 
TALES OF SERBIAN LIFE 
 
 him for me please, please don't let them take him 
 away ! he doesn't belong to them, and he is mine 
 
 now/' 
 
 Pepitch looked still more puzzled, and he stooped 
 and picked the little mongrel up gingerly. 
 
 " You shall have him if you want him, Andrija, 
 but you must tell me how you came here and what 
 you are doing, little rascal that you are/' 
 
 Andrija slipped his dirty little hand into the big 
 brown one that was held out to him. " Let us go 
 somewhere," he said, " away from these boys ; then 
 I can tell you." 
 
 Pepitch nodded, for he did not want a crowd to 
 gather. He turned to the three boys, who were 
 already slinking away. 
 
 " Be off," he said, " and don't let me see any of 
 you again while I am in this town. Ide brzo I " 1 
 
 Without a second warning the urchins scampered 
 out of sight, while Pepitch and Andrija walked slowly 
 through the town. 
 
 " I shall take you to that field over there you 
 see ? where my aeroplane is, and the soldier who 
 is guarding it. I have come down for more petrol, 
 and first we must fetch that," and not saying any- 
 thing more to the rather subdued Andrija, who was 
 trotting by his side very lamely now that the excite- 
 ment of the fight was over, he went to the depot 
 where his petrol was to be obtained, saw that it was 
 carried to his aeroplane, which lay in a field well 
 out of the town, and then led Andrija to a little 
 kafana that stood in a quiet street overlooking the 
 
 1 " Go away quickly !" 
 184 
 
THE VILLA GOLUB 
 
 meadow. Ordering coffee for himself, he took 
 Andrija into the shelter of his big arm and looked 
 down kindly at the tired little boy. " Say now, 
 Andrija, tell your Pepitch how you came here. 
 Where is the uncle, and how came you to be wander- 
 ing in Keskovats alone ? " 
 
 Andrija tried to speak, but he was so desperately 
 tired that no words would come, only a flood of 
 tears, and Pepitch let him alone till the little storm 
 had passed, just patting his shoulder very kindly 
 and smoothing the ruffled brown hair with his big 
 hand. 
 
 " I walked" sobbed Andrija, " because they would 
 not let me come to see my father, though I begged 
 them when I knew he was going to France. And 
 it was my own money I took it out of my box 
 and I rode Svetko to Ossipaonitsa and sent him 
 back. And I did write a letter to tell Uncle Bozhidar 
 where I had gone so that he would not be frightened, 
 Svetko took it tied to his saddle. And after that I 
 bought the ticket to Plana, and then there was not 
 enough money and I had to walk/' 
 
 Pepitch said something under his breath that 
 Andrija could not catch. 
 
 r< But, Andrija, my son, it is days' and days' 
 journeying for these small legs. Where did you 
 sleep, and how have you fed ? ' 
 
 " I asked at the houses sometimes, and one night 
 I was with Boris Boyovitch in Palanka, until he said 
 he would send me back to Aunt Olga, and then I ran 
 away. But I left him my ikon. And last night it 
 rained and I was wet, and to-day Milosh, a lame 
 
 185 
 
TALES OF SERBIAN LIFE 
 
 man, made me frightened with his dog. But I 
 knew I must go to my father. Take me with you, 
 Pepitch don't leave medon't ! I will walk as 
 long as you like, only don't send me back to Uncle 
 Bozhidar ! I shall die if I stay there. Please, please, 
 Pepitch, take me to my father ! " 
 
 Pepitch rubbed his chin meditatively, but his arm 
 was still tightly round the boy. 
 
 " It's the queerest thing I ever heard, and Andrija 
 is the strangest boy in Serbia of that I am quite 
 certain/' he said, speaking to himself more than to 
 the boy ; " but as you are here, it seems to me that 
 the only thing I can do is to take you to him." 
 
 " Oh, Pepitch, where is he ? ' cried Andrija. 
 " Can we go now ? Quick, quick, let us start ! " 
 
 ( The only way I can take you is in my aeroplane/' 
 said Pepitch. " Will you be afraid ? " 
 
 " Oh, Pepitch, what splendid fun ! " cried Andrija, 
 again forgetting his tiredness completely at the two- 
 fold joy of the promised flight and the prospect of 
 seeing his father. 
 
 Pepitch laughed. " A fine way of ending your 
 trip," he said. " But we'll have to hurry, for I'm 
 due at Mladenovats and beyond." 
 
 And sure enough, after a hasty consultation with 
 the soldier who was his observer, Andrija, well 
 muffled up in a thick soldier's coat, was strapped in 
 behind with the soldier and the maps, while Pepitch 
 bundled the precious puppy into a safe corner near 
 his feet and prepared to start. Oh, how funny 
 Andrija felt as the monoplane rose ! For a minute 
 or two he shut his eyes, but he soon opened them, 
 186 
 
THE VILLA GOLUB 
 
 though only to see the spreading wings of the machine 
 and the sky above him, for he was not big enough 
 to look over the side of the car. How glorious it was 
 to be flying through the air like a bird ! Andrija 
 had often longed as he watched the machines which 
 came humming over Belgrade and Posharevats that 
 he too might go spinning through the clouds, but 
 he had never imagined that the experience could 
 be so splendid as this. He made up his mind there 
 and then that he could never be anything but an 
 aviator ! 
 
 The flight was ended all too soon, for in a very 
 few minutes Pepitch brought his 'plane down in a 
 big meadow, where by some tents, over against a 
 clump of trees, a group of officers were seated at 
 a long table, evidently just finishing an out-of-door 
 lunch after some work they had been doing in the 
 morning. Pepitch got out first, then he lifted 
 Andrija down and put him on his feet. 
 
 " Come, Andrija," he said, " I am going to give 
 you what you want, though never did such a little 
 rascal walk the earth and surely never so dirty a 
 small boy said Dobar dan to his Prince before." 
 
 Andrija clung tightly to his hand as they walked 
 across the grass. Would his father be cross with him 
 because he was so dirty ? and was he really going to 
 see the Prince who was his hero of all the army ? 
 
 Pepitch stopped before they reached the little 
 group of officers, saluted, then bowed very ceremoni- 
 ously to the one who stood in the middle. 
 
 "If it please your Highness/' he said, " here is 
 one of your future subjects who is anxious to make 
 
TALES OF SERBIAN LIFE 
 
 his bow to you, if you will permit me to present him. 
 He is the son of Colonel Lazaravitch, and as such 
 I think may be forgiven his present rather grimy 
 appearance." 
 
 Pepitch was a favourite with the young Prince, 
 who stood looking at the grubby little boy with 
 kindly but very amused eyes while Pepitch made 
 his little speech. With a smile he held out his 
 hand. 
 
 " Come here, son of Dushan Lazaravitch/' he said 
 to Andrija, who still clung tightly to Pepitch's hand. 
 With a jerk Andrija pulled himself together and 
 saluted the Prince as he had been taught ; then he 
 gravely kissed the hand held out to him. 
 
 " My name is Andrija/' he said very shyly, in 
 answer to the Prince's next question, " and I came 
 to find my father. Will you please to tell me where 
 he is ? " 
 
 The Prince laughed. " Indeed he should be here 
 in a moment/' he said. : ' It was a pity he could not 
 see you in the aeroplane, wasn't it ? I don't believe 
 any other little Serbian boy has been so lucky as 
 you. 
 
 " But tell me, Pepitch," he went on, turning to the 
 young aviator, " how did the boy get here, and where 
 did he come from ? He looks tired out. Did you 
 pick him up in the clouds ? ' 
 
 " I found him by an odd chance in Keskovats, sir, 
 where I had alighted," answered Pepitch. " He tells 
 me that he walked there from Plana, having heard 
 that his father was to be sent to France on his special 
 mission, and not being able to persuade his uncle 
 188 
 
THE VILLA GOLUB 
 
 and aunt, in whose care Colonel Lazaravitch had 
 placed him, to bring him here." 
 
 " From Plana \ " echoed the Prince ; " a youngster 
 like that ! Why, man, he isn't much more than a 
 
 baby " checking himself as he saw Andrija's 
 
 round eye of indignation. 'That is to say, of 
 course he is a big boy, but not big enough for so 
 long a walk as that." And he laughed again a little 
 under his short moustache. 
 
 " But I had to walk/' explained Andrija, regardless 
 
 . of anything else, " or else I should never have seen 
 
 Oh, Father, Father ! " he cried rapturously, as he 
 darted out of the little circle and flung himself into 
 the arms of a very startled Colonel Lazaravitch, who 
 was just coming up to join his brother officers again 
 after giving some orders to his adjutant. 
 
 It was some little time before Colonel Lazaravitch 
 could believe that it really was Andrija, and more 
 before he could get at the truth of the whole matter. 
 The group of officers gathered round father and 
 child, the Prince as interested as any, and little by 
 little the story of Andrija's wanderings came out in 
 full. 
 
 Colonel Lazaravitch held his son very tightly as 
 he told of his encounter with Milosh, for he realized 
 that Andrija had been in greater danger than he 
 knew oi, and though he felt he ought to be cross with 
 the boy for disobeying his orders to remain with 
 Uncle Bozhidar in Posharevats till he came for him, 
 yet the child's passionate love and fear lest his father 
 should go out of the country without his getting a 
 glimpse of him could not but melt his anger. For 
 
 189 
 
TALES OF SERBIAN LIFE 
 
 after all Andrija and he were now all in all to each 
 other. There was no one else there never could be 
 anyone else ; and now that he had his son with him 
 again the father realized how cruel had been his 
 loneliness without that small sturdy person, who 
 was all that was left to him. 
 
 " What am I to do with him, sir ? " he asked the 
 Prince, who stood with one hand placed affectionately 
 on his shoulder, for Colonel Lazaravitch was one of 
 his most trusted officers. 
 
 " I should keep him with you, Lazaravitch," said 
 the Prince. "He is of the same fibre as yourself, 
 and I want none better. Keep him with you, and 
 when he is old enough he shall enter the Body-guard. 
 But don't send him back, for I'm certain that if 
 you do ' Aunt Olga ' will succeed in taming that 
 spirit," he added, with a little laugh, " and we want 
 more of it, not less, to-day." 
 
 " Andrija, son of mine ! " said the Colonel very 
 gravely to the small boy who stood at his knee 
 clutching the rescued puppy very tightly, " you are 
 to thank the Prince for the honour he has done you. 
 And you are to prove to him that you are deserving 
 of that honour by learning to be obedient and to 
 respect discipline. If you are to lead others you 
 must learn first to obey/' 
 
 " He will learn that well enough, Lazaravitch," 
 was the kindly answer of the soldier Prince, " but 
 here is a heart that is too young and tender for 
 anything but love. You must be father and mother 
 both to him now. And for my part I would wish the 
 boy to stay. He will never turn away from you 
 190 
 
THE VILLA GOLUB 
 
 with you he will go far. Make his peace first with 
 the aunt, though, and take him to Paris till the storm 
 has blown over ! " And with a little laugh he patted 
 Andrija on the head and walked away to his tent, 
 followed by the other officers, and Andrija and his 
 father were left alone. 
 
 " So I am to stay in camp with you, Father/' 
 said Andrija contentedly, " and you are not very 
 angry with me for coming ? Don't let me go back, 
 please, please, and I will be so good ! I will never 
 disobey, and I will learn all my lessons ; but I shall 
 die if I go back without you. Can't I live with you 
 like other little boys ? " ' 
 
 Colonel Lazaravitch looked over the little brown 
 head as if he saw some one else standing there ; then 
 in a very low voice he said : " Since you have left 
 me, Franchise, I dare not send him back. For your 
 dear sake he shall never leave me again/' 
 
 And in the end Andrija did stay. And moreover 
 he went to Paris with his father. 
 
 And the Prince wrote such a nice letter to Uncle 
 Bozhidar and Aunt Olga that they were able at 
 once to forgive their runaway nephew for the fright 
 he had given them. So Andrija's adventures ended 
 quite happily ; and in the companionship of his be- 
 loved father, in earnest work at his lessons and amid 
 all the interest of the life around him he soon forgot 
 his sad days at the Villa Golub. 
 
 191 
 
STEFAN THE COWHERD 
 
 N 
 
CHAPTER I : A BETROTHAL 
 
 IT was really a very hot day even for July. The 
 sun beat fiercely down on the white woods and 
 on the square courtyard that lay between the 
 old farmhouse which belonged to Ivan Radovitch 
 and the smaller buildings where his married sons and 
 daughter lived with their children. If you go into 
 the little villages of Serbia you will find a great many 
 farms like this one, where a whole family will be 
 living, all their houses built inside the rough wooden 
 fence which encloses them and protects them, seem- 
 ing to spread from the house where the head of the 
 family lives just as branches spring from the big 
 oak-trees that grow so plentifully along the Serbian 
 country lanes. 
 
 Ivan Radovitch's farm was a big one, for he and 
 his wife had four sons and three daughters, and the 
 sons and one of the daughters were married and 
 all were living in the shadow of the old house where 
 they had been born. So the little children of Ivan's 
 children played among the cattle-sheds, climbed the 
 trees in the plum orchards, and drove the herds of 
 pigs up the hill-sides for food, just as their mothers 
 and fathers had done before them. 
 
 They were big, sturdy boys and girls, these grand- 
 children of old Ivan himself still upright and strong 
 and it was not often that you could see any of 
 them sitting still ; romping and racing was more in 
 their minds. 
 
 In the corner of the courtyard, under the big 
 walnut-tree- just the one bit of shade at that time 
 
TALES OF SERBIAN LIFE 
 
 of the day sat Ivan himself, and by his side his 
 youngest grandchild of all, named Stefan. If you 
 had told any of the noisy band what their grandfather 
 Ivan Radovitch was doing, and asked why the small 
 boy was sitting so quietly beside him, they would 
 have shrugged their shoulders and run laughing 
 away, saying : " Oh, but that is our lazy Stefan. 
 He thinks of nothing but carving and whittling with 
 his fingers. He thinks that if he watches the grand- 
 father at his work he too will make a carver ! What 
 rubbish, since all the village knows that there never 
 has been a carver like Grandfather ! " 
 
 Stefan "himself, however, would laugh as heartily 
 as any of them, for he didn't mind in the least how 
 much his cousins teased him, provided they would 
 only leave him in peace to be with his grandfather. 
 
 He would sit for hours perched on a little stool by 
 the old Ivan's side watching the clever fingers at 
 work for there was no doubt at all as to their clever- 
 ness. Anyone for miles round would tell you that Ivan 
 Radovitch could work magic with a piece of wood, 
 cunningly fashioning it into a water-bottle, or a box 
 to hold bride clothes that would make any bride or 
 bridegroom in the district quite puffed up with pride. 
 
 To-day he was .working at a special task, and the 
 small boy watched with almost breathless interest 
 the movements of the strong brown fingers. The 
 carving was almost finished : soon Stefan knew his 
 grandfather would begin to colour the wood, burn- 
 ing and tinting until the plain brown sycamore was 
 glowing with colours, red and blue and gold, like 
 those in some fine old illuminated book. 
 
STEFAN THE COWHERD 
 
 The box was for a wedding gift, and the bride was 
 to be Stefan's favourite aunt, the last but one of Ivan's 
 children to marry. The gift was to be one of no com- 
 mon excellence, and Stefan dared scarcely breathe 
 as the last touches were given to the delicate acorns 
 which ran in a scroll round the lid. 
 
 Grandfather Radovitch worked on almost in 
 silence, for he was very intent on his task. In less 
 than a week would be the wedding-day of Milutina, 
 his second daughter, and the pride of his heart, 
 and the bridal coffer into which all her best finery 
 would be packed must be a thing of particular beauty. 
 All across the top of it lay curving sprays of plum 
 blossom, and round the sides were carved cunningly 
 figures that told the story of a famous Serbian hero, 
 Kraljevitch Marko, and his piebald horse Sharats. . 
 
 Stefan could no longer contain himself as his grand- 
 father stretched out his arms with a long sigh of 
 relief. 
 
 "Bozhef but it is wonderful, my grandfather! 
 See how the little horse snuffs the wind, and see how 
 his hoofs paw the ground ! He might be alive now 1 " 
 
 Ivan looked down at his work, being well pleased, 
 for he had a curious delight in praise from this black- 
 thatched youngster, while he was, as a rule, perfectly 
 indifferent to anyone's remarks on his carving. " I 
 am Ivan Radovitch," he would say, with a shrug of 
 his shoulders, " and this is my work : if anyone does 
 not like it he is free to say so, but it is no matter 
 to me." 
 
 Yet he was pleased when Stefan said he thought 
 Sharats, the piebald horse, looked so real, for he 
 
 197 
 
TALES OF SERBIAN LIFE 
 
 himself was rather proud of the spirited way the 
 carven figure stood out in relief from the coffer. 
 
 Stefan looked up again. " Will you colour it to- 
 night, my grandfather ? " he said eagerly. " Shall I 
 run and fetch the bowls and dyes ? The sun is still 
 high and I need not go to fetch the cattle back till 
 it is lower/' 
 
 Ivan Radovitch shook his head, however. 
 
 " There is no time/' he said, with a hand on the 
 boy's shoulder, for he had laid the heavy coffer down 
 on its side against the rough bench on which he had 
 been sitting. " Thy grandmother will be calling thee 
 to make ready the supper with her to-night is my 
 neighbour Milan Toplitch coming with his friends to 
 ask the hand of thy Aunt Katinka, and we must do 
 honour to our guests. Truly it would please me 
 better to sit here and finish the coffer, but thou 
 knowest, Stefan, that there is a proverb, ' Better let 
 the village perish than the old customs in the village/ 
 and I for one will do as my fathers did before me/' 
 
 Just at that moment, indeed, Stefan's grandmother 
 came to the door of the house and stood shading her 
 eyes with her hand against the heat of the sun, and 
 " Where is my little Stefan ? " she called. " Ah, 
 there he is ! Come, little rascal ; there is much to 
 do, and only thou and I and thy Aunt Katinka, for 
 the rest are all away in the fields and will not be 
 back till supper-time." 
 
 Stefan would have liked very much to stay out in 
 the sunshine a little longer. He did not love the hot 
 kitchen overmuch, and moreover he had several 
 private plans of his own that he desired to carry 
 108 
 
STEFAN THE COWHERD 
 
 out. But in Serbia no small boy or girl would 
 dream of disobeying their elders, and with a little 
 nod of farewell to his grandfather he trotted obediently 
 into the house at his grandmother's heels. 
 
 Militsa Radovitch was a handsome old dame, tall 
 and dignified, with fine hair which had gone white 
 rather early under the silk handkerchief she always 
 wore knotted round her head. She was plump in 
 body, rather like a nice partridge, with soft, cushiony 
 hands that were very clever when a small boy had 
 an ache or a pain, and nimble feet that trotted about 
 from dawn to sunset, just as if she were twenty in- 
 stead of sixty. To-night she was more than usually 
 energetic, and Stefan was soon running about the 
 big kitchen in obedience to her quick voice. 
 
 Militsa Radovitch was very proud of her house, 
 though it was not a very big one according to our 
 ideas. It was built one story high, with a wooden 
 balcony running right round it. The kitchen was 
 really the living-room too, and opening out of it were 
 two rooms used as bedrooms, these in turn opening 
 out of one another. 
 
 The kitchen had a square low hearth with a wide, 
 open chimney above it, and to-night there was a 
 rich smell of cooking coming from the big black pot 
 that hung from chains in the chimney over the fire 
 which crackled on the hearth. 
 
 Stefan sniffed inquiringly when he first came in- 
 side ; then he recognized the smell it was cabbage 
 stew, and how good that would be only those who 
 had tasted Grandmother Radovitch's cooking could 
 know. From the roof hams and pieces of dried salted 
 
 199 
 
TALES OF SERBIAN LIFE 
 
 meat were hanging, and presently Militsa Radovitch 
 cut a thick piece of pork that was to be cooked with 
 the cabbage soup, and popped it knowingly into the 
 pot. How good it smelt ! But Stefan had not much 
 time for sniffing, for he had to make up the fire, fetch 
 more sticks from the wood-pile in the yard, pump 
 water at the well to fill up the black pot, and grind 
 much coffee, for visitors were expected. 
 
 Then he had to stir the soup while his grandmother 
 made wheaten cakes at the table near the door, and 
 he found that rather hot work. And he had to stir 
 all the time, for loud would his grandmother's voice 
 have been raised if even the tiniest bit of cabbage had 
 stuck to the side of the pot. 
 
 Aunt Katinka was busy in the inner room prepar- 
 ing a table for supper. As a rule they had supper 
 in the kitchen, and Stefan was a little puzzled over 
 this new idea. 
 
 " Grandmother/' he ventured to ask at length, 
 raising a very red face from his task, " why is the 
 Aunt Katinka making ready the table in there ? Is 
 it a feast, and shall I put my velvet coat on ? ' 
 
 Grandmother as a rule did not like little boys to ask 
 questions, but to-night she only smiled as she mixed 
 her cakes. 
 
 " To-night is the Prossidba for thy Aunt Katinka, 
 little boy, so we must all prepare to do honour to the 
 guests." 
 
 Stefan nodded wisely at this, for he knew quite 
 well what a Prossidba was. If I tell you what it 
 means you will understand why Stefan had to come 
 in to help to make supper, and why his grand- 
 
 200 
 
STEFAN THE COWHERD 
 
 mother was taking such special care over her little 
 cakes. 
 
 Prossidba means 'the requesting errand/ When a 
 certain man in the village has a son whom he wishes 
 to marry, he first of all looks round to see if any one 
 of the village girls is likely to make a good wife for his 
 son, and if he finds one, he tries to discover whether 
 her father and mother would like her to marry. If 
 they say that they think their daughter would be 
 happy married to his son, he comes with a friend 
 or relative to the girl's home on this ' requesting 
 errand/ when he asks permission formally for the 
 marriage to take place. 
 
 Now Katinka Radovitch was a very nice girl, and 
 a very clever girl, able to cook and brew, spin and 
 weave, as well as any girl for miles round the village 
 where her father's farm was built. And also she had 
 such a frank, open face and was known to be so kind- 
 hearted and happy-tempered that very many fathers 
 had wished that she might be a bride for their sons. 
 
 But since she was the youngest child of Militsa and 
 Ivan Radovitch and the old couple did not want her 
 to go away from them, they had always said ' No ' 
 to anyone who came to ask for her, till one day 
 Michael Toplitch had seen her, and had gone home 
 to tell his father that she must be his bride or none 
 other would he have. Now Michael Toplitch was 
 the eldest son of a farmer who had much land and 
 many cattle, and he was, too, a fine, handsome young 
 man, so that for many reasons Militsa and Ivan 
 Radovitch thought he would be a good bridegroom 
 for their daughter Katinka. 
 
 201 
 
TALES OF SERBIAN LIFE 
 
 Of course in England I suppose Michael would just 
 have come to Katinka and told her that he would 
 like her to be his bride, but being a Serb he could 
 not do that. However, he had told his father that 
 the affair must be settled as soon as possible, and 
 Milan Toplitch had taken great pains to find out if 
 Katinka's parents were willing. Now their assent 
 was secured, and to-night Milan Toplitch was to 
 come and ask formally for the hand of Katinka for 
 his son Michael. 
 
 And lest it should seem that Katinka's inclina- 
 tions in a matter so nearly affecting her had not been 
 sufficiently considered, let it be said that there was a 
 good deal of the love match in the affair, for Katinka's 
 heart had been given to the handsome Michael from 
 a day, more than a year ago, when she had first 
 caught his glance in the market at Banja. 
 
 Most Serbian marriages are arranged by the 
 parents, and love matches are rare. The young 
 people submit as a matter of course to their parents' 
 wishes. Sometimes, of course, a maiden will prove 
 obdurate and refuse to accept the husband chosen 
 for her ; and in such a case the young man may seek 
 the aid of witchcraft to turn the damsel's affections 
 toward him. At midnight on a certain Friday he 
 will go to the courtyard of the young woman's house 
 and there shake a tree three times, repeating her 
 Christian name at each shake, whereupon she will 
 answer his call and her affections are secured to him. 
 Or he will catch a certain fish and let it die near his 
 heart, then roast its flesh till it is burnt to a cinder, 
 then pound the ashes and place the powder in water 
 
 202 
 

 He will shake a tree three times 
 
 GILBERT JAMM 
 
 202 
 
STEFAN THE COWHERD 
 
 or some other drink. If the maiden can be prevailed 
 upon to taste the love-philtre her heart will be won. 1 
 
 Katinka, however, had not to be gained by enchant- 
 ments. So Grandmother Militsa blithely went about 
 the business of making her cakes, Ivan hurried to help 
 his sons fodder the cattle and drive the pigs in, and 
 Stefan stirred the soup, while Katinka herself, humming 
 a quaint little air, arranged the feast in the inner room. 
 
 Presently there was a great deal of noise and 
 laughter in the courtyard, and Stefan guessed that 
 these were his uncles and cousins coming home with 
 the last of the herds. It was a great temptation to 
 him to step out to join in the fun, for though he might 
 like sitting quietly by his grandfather's side or in a 
 corner with the lumps of clay that he was so fond of 
 patting and moulding into shape, still he was a real boy 
 and loved the jokes that were always flying about when 
 two or three of the Radovitch cousins were together. 
 
 In a minute Djura, one of the elder boys, came in 
 with a big armful of faggots for the fire. " See, 
 Grandmother/' he said, " how fine a fire you will 
 have with these faggots. I picked them from the 
 woods as I came along with the pigs." 
 
 " Put them down in the corner, boy," said his 
 grandmother, " and run across to your mother to ask 
 her for her little coffee-mill. I do not know what 
 ails ours, but grind finely it will not. And then come 
 and grind some beans for me, for it is getting late 
 and the sun is low." 
 
 Stefan looked out of the window. Oh, yes, it was 
 
 1 See Hero Tales and Legends of the Serbians, by W. M. Petrovitch, 
 PP- 32-33 (Harrap). 
 
 203 
 
TALES OF SERBIAN LIFE 
 
 certainly nearly time for supper. Just when the sun 
 dipped below the branches of the big walnut-tree it 
 would be time for the kitchen door to be opened 
 again, and his grandfather's heavy tread would come 
 up the three wooden steps that led to the house. 
 There was not a clock to be found in the whole of the 
 village, and Stefan knew nothing about telling the 
 time except by the sun and his appetite, which was 
 certainly a big one. 
 
 Katinka came in from the inner room now, very 
 fine in her Sunday dress, and her mother, though in 
 the very middle of her cake-baking, could not resist 
 the temptation of coming up to her to arrange the 
 folds of the pleated skirt and straighten the beautiful 
 velvet apron, worked in silk by her mother's hands. 
 Katinka's hair was braided under a fine silk kerchief 
 instead of the cotton one she wore on ordinary work- 
 ing days, and round her neck she had the prettiest 
 beads. How fine she looked ! Her nephews Stefan 
 and Djura could scarcely keep their tongues quiet, 
 only they did not dare to tease her, or indeed to make 
 any remarks in their grandmother's presence. 
 
 Grandmother Radovitch went back to her cakes, 
 which by now were being baked over the wood fire, 
 with a very pleased look on her face. There was no 
 doubt that Katinka would be making a very good 
 marriage ; and few girls would have a better bride- 
 chest to take with them to a new home a splendid 
 carved chest, filled with homespun flax and cloth, 
 embroidered pillows and fine rugs. 
 
 Just then the door opened, and in came Grand- 
 father Radovitch and his eldest son, Petar. 
 204 
 
STEFAN THE COWHERD 
 
 ' Is supper ready, wife ? ' ; he asked, " for I hear 
 the trot of horses down the lane, and I fancy that 
 will be our good neighbour Milan Toplitch." 
 
 And so indeed it proved to be. Hardly had he 
 spoken when horses' hoofs were heard in the court- 
 yard, and the sound of voices. 
 
 The grandmother sent Stefan and Djura flying out 
 to take the horses away, and old Ivan went out to 
 receive his guests. Katinka ran into the other room, 
 and her mother followed her, first giving a glance 
 round to see that all was in order. 
 
 Then Milan Toplitch and a man whom Stefan did 
 not know came into the house, and while Milan 
 was greeting the grandfather the stranger shut the 
 kitchen door with his shoulders to signify that the 
 maiden is shut in the house and there is no escape for 
 her a memory of the savage times when a man in 
 search of a bride had to capture her by force. 
 
 Ivan invited his guests to sit round the fire, and when 
 Stefan and Djura came in they joined the circle too. 
 
 Presently Militsa Radovitch came bustling into 
 the kitchen, and after she had greeted the guests she 
 carried the savoury -smelling stew into the next room, 
 and invited them to enter and partake of it. 
 
 Neither Grandmother Radovitch, Katinka, nor 
 the two boys came in to have supper only Grand- 
 father and Stefan's uncle Petar, Milan Toplitch, and 
 his friend seated themselves round the table. 
 
 Stefan and Djura remained in the kitchen and ate 
 their supper there, while Grandmother Radovitch 
 stood by the chimney with her hand on Katinka's 
 shoulder, both far too excited to eat at all. 
 
 205 
 
TALES OF SERBIAN LIFE 
 
 When the guests had eaten and drunk for a little 
 time, Stefan heard the stranger say to his grand- 
 father : "Brother, thou hast not asked us what is 
 the object of our visit this evening. We have not 
 come to eat or drink, but to make a certain arrange- 
 ment, if it please God, and if it be agreeable to 
 you." 
 
 Ivan Radovitch made a grave little bow, then he 
 answered : " Brother, I have not asked the object 
 of this visit, because I thought you would tell me 
 yourself why you came. I am certain it was for 
 some good purpose, so you are very welcome to me." 
 
 Milan Toplitch then turned to Grandfather Rado- 
 vitch, and pulling out a little bag he had in his 
 pocket he laid it on the table, saying : " Yes, Ivan 
 Radovitch, it is true that I have come for a good 
 purpose. We would be pleased to enter into family 
 relationship with you, in God's name ! My son 
 Michael would like to take your daughter Katinka 
 for his bride, if it be God's will and agreeable to you." 
 
 Then he pulled out of his bag a flat wheaten cake, 
 and laying on it a small bunch of flowers he placed 
 them on the table. Pulling out of his breast-pocket a 
 handful of coins, he then picked out several gold pieces 
 and laid them on the cake too, as the first present 
 which he meant to give to his son's future bride. 
 
 Ivan Radovitch nodded his head. Then he said : 
 " Brother, we must not be in too great a hurry over 
 this let us see what my daughter would have to say," 
 and rising from his chair he went out to consult his wife. 
 
 Really, of course, all this had been settled before- 
 hand, but it was the custom, so of course Ivan 
 206 
 
STEFAN THE COWHERD 
 
 followed it, just as his father and grandfather had 
 done before him. In a moment or two he came back 
 to the inner room, and filled up the glasses of his 
 visitors with red wine, saying to them that they 
 must continue their supper till his wife should find 
 out whether her daughter were willing or not. 
 
 Stefan and Djura found this deeply interesting. 
 Then in another moment Uncle Rayko, the brother 
 who was Katinka's twin, came in from his own house 
 across the courtyard, and after kissing his mother 
 and sister on the cheek he took Aunt Katinka by 
 the hand and led her into the inner room. 
 
 Aunt Katinka bowed deeply before Milan Toplitch 
 and kissed his right hand ; then she went round the 
 table and kissed the hands of the other three. Back 
 again Uncle Rayko led her to the father of her future 
 husband, and Milan picked up the coins from the 
 flat cake and placed them in Katinka's hand, together 
 with the bunch of flowers, saying as he did so : 
 " May God's blessing rest upon this marriage, O my 
 dear daughter, and may all happiness await thee, my 
 little lucky one, my charming carnation I " 
 
 Katinka blushed very prettily and kissed his hand 
 again, then Uncle Rayko led her out to the kitchen, 
 holding her coins and flowers. 
 
 This was the signal for which the two boys had 
 been eagerly waiting. With cries of joy they hurried 
 out of the house and fired off pistols in the court- 
 yard. Out came the other two brothers and their 
 sons, out came Uncle Rayko and Uncle Petar, and 
 for a few minutes you would have thought that 
 there was a battle going on ! 
 
 207 
 
TALES OF SERBIAN LIFE 
 
 Really it was just the Serbian way of telling the 
 rest of the people in the village that Katinka was 
 formally engaged to be married. 
 
 Meantime in the supper-room Milan Toplitch had 
 taken out another gold coin from his money-bag 
 and laid it on the flat cake, that being the price for 
 which he bought a wife for his son another old 
 custom which Ivan Radovitch would not dream of 
 forgetting, though of course he would only have 
 laughed if anyone had really suggested that he 
 should sell his daughter ! 
 
 Then they drank the health of the young couple, 
 and the two fathers embraced and kissed each other, 
 for from that moment they would be family relations. 
 
 " And we must fix the day for giving the ring," 
 said Milan Toplitch. 
 
 " And for the wedding too," agreed Ivan Radovitch. 
 
 " Yes/' said his wife. " My daughter will not 
 keep her groom waiting while she spins her wedding 
 clothes. She is a fine worker and not a lazy good- 
 for-nothing like some of the girls of to-day." 
 
 " But the dress I shall give my son's bride," said 
 Milan, and that indeed was the custom. 
 
 Stefan was not much interested in all this talking, 
 but he liked a wedding, for did it not give plenty of 
 opportunity for pistol-shooting ? and besides, were 
 there not always such splendid things to eat ? 
 Decidedly, he thought, as he followed his uncles into 
 the house, and helped to make a big hole in what 
 was left of the cabbage stew, it would be rather a 
 good thing if one had a wedding in the house every 
 month ! 
 208 
 
CHAPTER II : STEFAN'S ADVEN- 
 TURE 
 
 UP on the hill-side beneath the wide-spreading 
 branches of a great beech-tree Stefan lay 
 sleeping one hot afternoon. Around him 
 his goats were feeding, cropping eagerly the short, 
 fine grass of the hill-country, and relishing it none 
 the less because it was beginning to look rather 
 brown after many days of the scorching sun of an 
 unusually hot August. 
 
 From time to time the tinkle of their little bells 
 would sound in the clear air as the goats clambered 
 up and down from turf to rocky ledges in search of 
 the sweet grass they liked so well, but other noises 
 there were none. The river flowed far beneath the 
 hill where the boy lay sleeping, the forests were very 
 still, no birds sang in the branches to-day, not even a 
 woodman's axe was at work ; all was quiet. Stefan 
 lay on a soft cushion of turf with his head on a heap 
 of last year's leaves that had fallen from the great 
 beech-tree. He had pulled his broad felt hat over 
 his eyes the better to shield them from the strong 
 sunlight, and lay very still in the deep sleep of 
 healthy boyhood. 
 
 Suddenly on the crest of the hill-spur a horse 
 
 'and its rider came into sight, and made their way 
 
 down the slope toward the spot where the boy was 
 
 sleeping. At the sight of the lad the rider jumped 
 
 from the saddle, and the two, man and horse, stood 
 
 very still and noiselessly by the side of Stefan, the 
 
 horse nuzzling the man's coat-sleeve as if he wondered 
 
 o 209 
 
TALES OF SERBIAN LIFE 
 
 a little at some strange whim of his master, but very 
 docile under the caressing hand which fondled his 
 velvet nose. It was at Stefan that the stranger first 
 looked, but his eyes soon travelled from the boy to 
 the objects which were scattered around him 
 figures of horses and goats, little trees and houses, 
 all modelled from the soft red clay of the hill-side, 
 which Stefan amused himself by making every time 
 he found himself alone. 
 
 Stooping down, the stranger picked up one of the 
 largest of the clay figures, representing Zita, the 
 prettiest, perhaps, of all the goats under Stefan's 
 charge. 
 
 Zita herself was feeding only a little distance away, 
 and as the stranger looked from one to the other, 
 from the goat to the little model in clay which he had 
 in his hand, his look of astonishment deepened. 
 
 " This is very strange," he said half to himself 
 and half to the air. " I could hardly have expected 
 to find a talent like this growing wild on a Serbian 
 hill-side ! I wish the boy would wake without my 
 speaking to him. I am afraid he will bolt from here 
 if he is startled, and I want to ask him about these 
 clay playthings of his. 
 
 " There is genuine talent here rough enough, 
 crude enough, heaven knows, but the real thing 
 or I'm a Dutchman ! JJ 
 
 The low tones of his voice would scarcely have 
 wakened Stefan, but just at that moment one of the 
 half-savage wolf-dogs belonging to his grandfather, 
 which had attached itself to Stefan as a kind of 
 body-guard, came running swiftly toward him, and, 
 210 
 
STEFAN THE COWHERD 
 
 scenting a stranger, broke into a furious barking. 
 The stranger was by no means a coward, but he knew 
 the country well, and knew, therefore, how dangerous 
 these guard dogs can be. He had nothing in his 
 hand but a light riding-switch, and in spite of him- 
 self at the dog's furious onslaught he uttered a sharp 
 exclamation. Stefan at that instant woke up. 
 
 In front of him stood the stranger, keeping the dog 
 at bay, and Stefan in a moment was by his side. 
 
 " Back, Hafiz ! " he cried to the dog. " Lie down 
 at once and learn your manners ! Do not mind 
 my dog," he continued, smiling rather shyly at the 
 stranger. "He is only bad old Hafiz and nobody 
 minds him but he does not like stranger people/' 
 and, half laughing, half scolding, he pushed the dog 
 away with his foot. 
 
 Hafiz lay down, but he growled softly from time 
 to time as if to prove that he really was a terrible 
 creature ! 
 
 The tall stranger held out his hand to Stefan. 
 
 " Thank you, my boy," he said, speaking Serbian, 
 rather slowly it is true, but still so that Stefan 
 understood him quite well. " I am glad you were 
 here when Hafiz came he has some sharp teeth." 
 Then he stopped, and looking down at the little clay 
 figures he continued : " Will you show me your clay 
 goat ? I should like to see it." 
 
 Stefan grew rather red, for he thought this tall 
 stranger must be laughing at him every one else 
 thought his clay figures rather a childish occupation 
 for a great boy to spend his time over, and he gene- 
 rally kept them out of sight. It was well enough to 
 
 211 
 
TALES OF SERBIAN LIFE 
 
 keep them in the thicket on the hill-side, where he 
 herded his grandfather's goats or pigs, but as for 
 showing them to anyone ! he almost felt inclined 
 to laugh at the idea himself. 
 
 Still, he was bound to be polite to a stranger, and 
 with a shamefaced air he stooped and gathered up 
 an armful of his treasures. " There ! " he said, " I 
 made all these, but they are not very good. I can 
 make better ones if I am not lazy." 
 
 The stranger looked first at Stefan, then at the 
 little clay figures. " But I think they are very 
 good," he said. " Tell me, who showed you how to 
 do this ? did your father teach you ? " 
 
 " My father is dead," answered Stefan, " and since 
 my mother died too I live with my grandfather. 
 That is our house over there do you see ? where 
 the smoke comes up. I am Stefan Radovitch, you 
 see." 
 
 " Yes, I see," replied the Englishman, whose name 
 was Peter Diviner, and whose beautiful pictures 
 had made him quite a famous man in England, as 
 well as in France, where he generally lived. ' I 
 see the house, and if I had time I would like to 
 come and see you there. Perhaps another day I 
 can come." 
 
 " But come to-day," cried Stefan. " I do not 
 want you to go away. Are you a French gospodin 
 [gentleman] ? ' 
 
 " No, I am an Englishman," laughed Peter Diviner ; 
 " but I live in France because I can paint better 
 pictures there. That is why I came to your beautiful 
 country I came to paint your mountains and the 
 
 212 
 
STEFAN THE COWHERD 
 
 vineyards, so that English and French people can 
 see how fine they are/' 
 
 Stefan was sorely puzzled by this. Pictures he 
 had never seen except in church, and the little ikon 
 of the family saint which hung on the bracket above 
 the lighted lamp, and he thought it rather funny that 
 anyone should want to paint the mountains ! 
 
 Peter Diviner smiled a little, then he pulled some- 
 thing out of one of the big bags that hung from his 
 horse's saddle. He held it up for Stefan to see, 
 and was well rewarded by the little gasp of amaze- 
 ment that came from the boy's lips. 
 
 " It it is our valley ! " stammered Stefan. " I 
 could touch it ! It is even our orchard, and the 
 mountain behind the Morava ! I I have never 
 seen anything like this in the world before ! " 
 
 The artist was very well pleased. He pulled sketch 
 after sketch out of his portfolio and laid them before 
 the astonished Stefan, whose eyes grew nearly as big 
 as saucers. 
 
 ' I am showing them to you," he explained, 
 ' because I think you are an artist too." 
 
 Stefan's eyes fell, and he touched the pictures 
 with an almost reverent hand. " Could could I," 
 he stammered, " could I ever learn to make pictures 
 like these ? " 
 
 " I do not know," answered the artist gravely. 
 ' It would mean hard work, my boy you would 
 have to study many things if you wished to become 
 one of the people who make the beautiful things of 
 life. I believe that you have the true spirit in you 
 the difficulty will be " speaking almost as if he 
 
 213 
 
TALES OF SERBIAN LIFE 
 
 were talking to himself " that between a farm of 
 mid-Serbia and a Paris studio there is a great gulf 
 fixed." 
 
 Stefan did not quite understand this, so he turned 
 again to the pictures, while Peter Diviner stood 
 looking down at him. 
 
 Stefan interested this artist as no other person 
 had done among the many with whom he had made 
 friends since first he came to paint in Serbia. 
 
 " I would give a good deal," he said to himself, 
 " to take the lad back with me and give him a chance. 
 His may be a talent lost to the world if he is not 
 brought out, and who is to see him here ? It is by 
 the veriest chance that I passed this way, instead 
 of going by the road. Have I the right to stir up 
 longings in him that I cannot gratify ? I do not 
 think I have it will be wiser to go, and go quickly, 
 or I shall be doing something rash, as usual." 
 
 And with a sudden, decided nod of his head he 
 took the pictures gently from Stefan's hand and 
 began to pack the saddle-bags again. Stefan's face 
 fell. 
 
 " Are you going away," he said, " and shall I not 
 see you again ? Only come and drink coffee with 
 us, and I will show you my grandfather's carving, 
 and many nice things that he has made. And I 
 have a few more of the clay things you like if you 
 will only come and see them." 
 
 Peter Diviner shook his head quite sadly this 
 time, as if he too found it hard to go. 
 
 " It must be Zbogom to-day, I am afraid, Stefan," 
 he said rather sadly. " See how low the sun is in 
 214 
 
STEFAN THE COWHERD 
 
 the sky, and I have to ride all the way back to 
 Leskovats/' 
 
 " Will you stay long there ? " asked Stefan eagerly. 
 " Can you ride here another day ? You have a 
 good horse, and we would have you as a guest in our 
 house theq.. Please come and see us ! " 
 
 " Another day, I promise/' said the artist, " but 
 now I must go, Stefan. Take care of your models, 
 and make some more for me to see the next time I 
 come/ 1 
 
 He laid his hand on Stefan's shoulder and paused 
 a moment, then mounted his horse and rode away 
 down the winding path. 
 
 Stefan watched the horse and its rider till they 
 were both out of sight ; then he flung himself down 
 on the turf again, his head resting in his hands, and, 
 forgetting the goats and the setting sun, he fell into 
 a kind of day-dream, thinking only about the pictures 
 he had seen and the wonderful ideas the painter had 
 put into his mind. He might have sat there till 
 night fell if one of his cousins had not come racing up 
 the slope in search of him. And then did not Stefan 
 get a scolding for forgetting that it was past the 
 goats' milking-time ! Konstantin had a long tongue, 
 and used it well, but I am afraid that everything 
 he said went in at one ear and out at the other, 
 for Stefan's mind was only filled with the idea of 
 making pictures like Peter Diviner's, and for anything 
 else at the moment he had no thoughts at all. 
 
 Grandfather Radovitch was told all about the 
 stranger, of course, for it was quite unusual to meet 
 a foreigner riding about the hills in that quiet 
 
 215 
 
TALES OF SERBIAN LIFE 
 
 district especially an Englishman, and one who 
 could talk Serbian so well. 
 
 Grandmother Militsa wanted to know if the 
 stranger were a handsome man, and if he had much 
 money, and Grandfather Ivan said that all English- 
 men were very wealthy and indeed he thought 
 that this Englishman must be a lazy man if he 
 travelled about all his life painting pictures, instead 
 of stopping at home to look after his own fields and 
 herds. Neither Ivan nor his sons could imagine a 
 life without fields to till or flocks to rear, so they 
 were very much puzzled by and interested in this 
 foreigner's strange behaviour. 
 
 After supper Stefan went back into his dreams, 
 in which, indeed, he lived for a good many days 
 after that. Each morning he climbed to the top of 
 the hill in the hope that he would see the stranger 
 coming, and each day he was disappointed. He did 
 not think the artist would forget the promise he had 
 made, but as the days passed by and still he never 
 came Stefan grew quite sad, and, if I must say it, 
 just a little bad-tempered. He would not play with 
 the other cousins, and he was forgetful of his charges, 
 the goats and pigs, which he had to help to look 
 after. All he thought about was getting on the top 
 of the hill and watching for his stranger. I don't 
 know what would have happened if this had gone 
 on much longer, but one night as Stefan came down 
 very late from the forest, where he had been sent 
 with another boy to bring back a sledge-load of 
 brushwood for the house fire, he found great doings 
 at home. The courtyard seemed full of people, 
 216 
 
oo 2 
 
 *- j 
 "^ j 
 
 o 
 4! 
 
 <ii 
 
 
 
STEFAN THE COWHERD 
 
 there were torches flaring, much bustle and con- 
 fusion, women's shrill voices raised above the deeper 
 tones of the men, and the creaking of wheels, and 
 Stefan could see that a heavy ox-wagon was being 
 slowly moved almost to the foot of the steps leading 
 up to the house. 
 
 This was interesting, and the two boys hastened 
 to learn what was happening. A tall man was being 
 carefully lifted out of the cart by two of Stefan's 
 stalwart uncles and carried up the steps. Suddenly, 
 with a little cry of " The English gospodin I " Stefan 
 ran forward. 
 
 " It is my Englishman ! " he cried. " What has 
 happened to him ? is he hurt ? is he dead ? Why 
 are you bringing him here ? ' 
 
 "What do you mean, Stefan?" said his grand- 
 mother. ' Your Englishman indeed ! The poor man 
 is much hurt I think he has broken his leg." Half 
 a dozen people seemed to be talking at once, but 
 Stefan elbowed his way, regardless of every one, right 
 up to the injured man, who was just then opening his 
 eyes. He smiled faintly at the boy's anxious face, 
 and tried to put out a hand, but drew it back with a 
 little ejaculation of pain. 
 
 " I'm afraid I can't shake hands to-day, Stefan/' 
 he said in his careful Serbian. " You see, I have 
 hurt myself ; but I shall soon be better." 
 
 The family held up its hands with one accord. 
 
 " Bozhe ! ' each said admiringly to the other. 
 " He speaks such beautiful Serbian ! How clever he 
 is, and the poor man in such pain ! A clever gospodin 
 indeed ! ' J 
 
 217 
 
TALES OF SERBIAN LIFE 
 
 " He has had a fall from his horse/' explained Uncle 
 Petar to old Ivan Radovitch, who came in from the 
 courtyard carrying the stranger's riding-whip. " The 
 beast stumbled in the forest over a log and threw him 
 badly. The leg is broken, I think, but not the arm. 
 That is only cut and bruised/' 
 
 Old Ivan came forward and bent over the injured 
 man. " He is welcome to my house/' he said with his 
 usual grave courtesy. " He must be my guest till his 
 hurts are well ; and though he is far from his own 
 people, yet we will be his people till he is better, and 
 for so long after that as the gospodin wishes." 
 
 Peter Diviner looked up and smiled back. He 
 was in great pain and he felt very faint, but he was 
 glad, since this unlucky accident had happened to 
 him, that he had the good fortune to find himself 
 among such hospitable folk. He had been carried 
 into the inner bedroom, and laid on the wide bed so 
 that Uncle Petar, who had the most skill of. any in 
 the treatment of sickness, could examine his injuries. 
 Militsa Radovitch stood at the bottom of the bed 
 looking at him with kind eyes, and he liked her fine 
 old face under its cotton kerchief. In her hand she 
 held a basin of water, and a roll of white linen hung 
 over her arm to bind up his cuts. But Petar shook 
 his head over the leg. " I am no doctor," he said 
 bluntly to Peter Diviner, " and this is more than I 
 can manage. So I will even now ride over and fetch 
 Lovro Tankossitch he has seen much service in the 
 wars, and will set your leg as easily as look at it." 
 
 The Englishman made a little grimace under the 
 shelter of his hand he did not like the thought of 
 218 
 
STEFAN THE COWHERD 
 
 having his leg set by a peasant doctor ; but when 
 Lovro really came, and skilfully and quickly did 
 his work, he was obliged to confess that a lifetime of 
 forest work and war may fit a man for many another 
 craft besides those two. And as it turned out, the 
 leg was not actually broken, though very badly hurt. 
 There are few doctors in Serbia, and the country 
 people often possess a natural skill in healing, while 
 the hard years of war have turned many a Serb 
 soldier into a rough-and-ready surgeon. 
 
 Stefan hung about outside while Lovro was 
 with the patient and his grandmother helped to 
 make the sick man comfortable, but he was wildly 
 excited to think that his wonderful stranger was 
 actually in his grandfather's house. The moment he 
 could obtain permission to do so, he crept into the 
 room where Peter Diviner lay, and stood shyly by 
 the bed looking down at the artist. Peter was feeling 
 too limp and tired to talk much, and he was beginning 
 to be a little feverish, but he smiled kindly at Stefan, 
 and that smile made him the boy's hero for ever. 
 With a little gulp Stefan said softly : 
 
 " I am very sorry that you are hurt, Gospodin, but 
 I am glad it was near our house that your horse 
 stumbled and not up in the forest, or perhaps we 
 should not have found you till to-morrow. I have 
 brought you a little thing for a present, because Grand- 
 mother says I may not stop with you to-night," and 
 holding out something wrapped up in a handkerchief, 
 he thrust it into Peter Diviner's hand and ran out of 
 the room, overtaken by a sudden fit of shyness. Peter 
 looked at the little package it was the clay goat ! 
 
 219 
 
TALES OF SERBIAN LIFE 
 
 Grandmother Radovitch saw it too. " Dear, 
 dear ! " . she clucked, " what rubbish has the boy 
 brought in now ? The gospodin must forgive him 
 he is only a boy with no father to correct him, and 
 my man does nothing but spoil him the livelong day. 
 Now you. must go to sleep, and not. talk. any more/' 
 Her voice sounded almost as if she were angry, but 
 really she. was very proud that the stranger should 
 be her guest, for Militsa Radovitch was a famous 
 nurse and loved looking after sick people. 
 
 Peter was too tired to talk. He drank the warm 
 milk she brought him and shut his eyes obediently, 
 but he still held the little clay goat that Stefan had 
 put into his hand, and when, a little later, he lay 
 between sleep and wakefulness, and Grandmother 
 Radovitch, rather shocked by Stefan's unceremonious 
 behaviour, tried to take it gently from him, his fingers 
 fastened tightly round it, and there it was still in the 
 morning, rather flattened, but still a goat. 
 
 It was some days. before Militsa Radovitch allowed 
 Stefan to see much of his hero, for she was very careful 
 of her patient and did not believe in encouraging 
 visits from noisy boys. So Stefan had to content 
 himself with peeping shyly round the door, and 
 smiling all over his face when Peter, from under his 
 blanket, would sing out a cheery " Dobar dan, dechko" 
 (" Good morning, youngster"). Peter would hold 
 up the battered ' Zita/ and Stefan would smile more 
 broadly than ever, then he would produce from one 
 of his pockets some treasure to cheer the sick-bed a 
 handful of walnuts, a pretty pebble, or a gay bird's 
 feather, which he would place with great solemnity 
 
 220 
 
STEFAN THE COWHERD 
 
 in Peter's hand. He was always rather solemn these 
 first few days, and not so talkative as he had been 
 on the hill-side, so Peter, who loved to hear him talk, 
 would tell him stories about life at home in Eng- 
 land or France, till Stefan's eyes grew rounder 
 and rounder, and he lost his shyness and his eager 
 questions grew almost continual. 
 
 In the evening, when work in the fields was done, 
 the men would come along and sit beside their 
 guest, smoking endless cigarettes and drinking the 
 good coffee Grandmother or Katinka would prepare. 
 Then what talks there would be ! tales of old 
 Serbia, capped by stories of life in England or France 
 which made every one stare and wonder, till the fire 
 died on the hearth and Grandmother bundled them 
 all off to bed. 
 
 Peter was very happy in his enforced confinement, 
 though he suffered a good deal of pain, and though he 
 was missing the loveliest months of the year while he 
 lay in bed. It was a great relief to him to find that 
 his leg was only badly bruised and strained, and not 
 broken. When he began to get better they would 
 carry him out to the long seat under the walnut- 
 tree, and there he would stay all the long sunshiny 
 day. Stefan was never very far away, and great 
 was his happiness when Peter began to paint his 
 pictures again : little sketches of the house, of Aunt 
 Katinka drawing water from the well in the court- 
 yard, of Uncle Boris yoking the oxen, and one day 
 even a picture of Stefan himself. 
 
 And what a proud boy he was then ! Grand- 
 mother was just as proud as Stefan himself, and 
 
 221 
 
TALES OF SERBIAN LIFE 
 
 indeed the whole household came and hung breath- 
 lessly over the painter's shoulder. " Bozhe I " one 
 would cry, "but that is wonderful! Did you see 
 how the brush made first just a mark, and then the 
 mark grew into a nose ? ' 
 
 " If you had lived a long time ago, Gospodin, 
 they would have made you into a saint/' laughed 
 Grandfather Radovitch. 
 
 " To-day is good enough for me/' answered Peter, 
 laughing too as he laid down his brush to rest a few 
 minutes. This was the signal for Grandmother 
 Radovitch to fetch a big bowl of goat's cheese, 
 cherries, and her new-baked maize bread, all carried 
 in the rough yellow earthenware that the artist 
 liked so much. 
 
 " Look you/' she scolded laughingly, " you talk 
 and talk to the gospodin, and he works and works, 
 a sick man too. I shall have to take the brushes 
 away and send Stefan off to herd the goats if it goes 
 on this way. Eat your cheese now, my little sir, 
 and drink that good milk a healing leg needs much 
 food. Bozhe!" 
 
 11 You are too good to me, Maika," said Peter 
 affectionately to her. " You spoil me like one of 
 your own family." 
 
 " Indeed and I was never spoilt like that," 
 laughed her eldest son. " It was very different for 
 us, I can tell you, Gospodin." 
 
 " Here comes another," said Peter in mock terror. 
 " What is it this time, Miss Katrnka ? " 
 
 " A hard-boiled egg to eat with your cheese and 
 cherries. See, I will take off the shell for you." 
 
 222 
 
STEFAN THE COWHERD 
 
 And very carefully Katinka took the shell away, 
 afterward crushing it into the finest powder, for she 
 believed that if she did not do this the witches might 
 use these shells as little boats to cross rivers, lakes, 
 and seas and visit different countries. 
 
 All the family believed in witches, and there was 
 generally a piece of garlic hanging over the door to keep 
 them away, because, they said, it is well known that 
 witches do not like the strong smell of that plant. 
 
 One day Stefan told Peter a wonderful story about 
 a woman who was a witch, and Peter liked it so 
 much that he made a little picture of it, which he 
 gave to Stefan as his very own. 
 
 " You know, Gospodin," Stefan said, " that all 
 the witches are very sociable they like to meet and 
 have supper together. Generally they have supper 
 among the branches of the big walnut-trees (I should 
 not wonder if they had it sometimes in our walnut- 
 tree), or they may choose the ground on which wheat 
 has been threshed. It is quite easy for a witch who 
 pretends to be an ordinary woman to go to the 
 supper of the other witches, because all she has to do 
 is to rub a little special grease into her armpits and 
 then at once she can fly through the air and come 
 down just where she wishes. There was a man once 
 who had a wife who he thought was a witch, and 
 finding out where she kept her flying grease, one 
 night after she had flown away he rose up, rubbed 
 some into his armpits, and repeated the words he 
 had heard his wife use : ' Over the thorn-bush, 
 over the tree-tops, and carry me straight to the 
 witches' meeting/ 
 
 223 
 
TALES OF SERBIAN LIFE 
 
 " Even before the words were out of his mouth 
 a great wind seemed to come rushing through his 
 house, and he was carried away by a mighty hurricane 
 right through the air, past the thorn-bush, over the 
 tree-tops, till at last he dropped into the branches of 
 a large walnut-tree on a high hill-top. There sat 
 a number of witches, and what was his surprise 
 when he found among them, not only his own wife, 
 but several of his neighbours' wives ! They were 
 witches too ! 
 
 " They were all sitting round a golden table 
 drinking wine from golden cups. He was so aston- 
 ished to see them that he cried out : ' Oh, may 
 a curse be upon each one of you, witches all ! ' At 
 this the golden table disappeared into the ground, 
 the witches rose up in the air like so many black- 
 birds and flew away uttering angry cries, and the 
 inquisitive husband fell from the tree on to the hard 
 ground, breaking his ribs, while all the golden cups 
 crashed down around him. 
 
 " Although he was in great pain, still he began 
 to pick up the golden cups, but to his great disgust 
 he found them to be only hoofs of dead horses 
 and cattle ! " 
 
 " And what happened to him afterward ? " in- 
 quired Peter. 
 
 " I do not think the story tells us," Stefan said, 
 " but I expect he would fly everywhere after that 
 unless his wife hid the flying grease." 
 
 He sat silent a minute, then sighed heavily. " I 
 wish I had some flying grease too," he said at last. 
 
 " What do you want flying grease for ? " asked Peter. 
 224 
 
STEFAN THE COWHERD 
 
 " So that when your leg is better and you go back 
 over the sea I could rub it in my armpits and fly 
 after you/' said Stefan. " I do not want you to go 
 awa}/. Stay with us and paint your pictures here. 
 There are very many things you have not seen yet, 
 and I can show you anything you will." 
 
 Peter shook his head sadly. " I am afraid that 
 cannot be, Stefan/' he said. " I must go back as 
 soon as ever this old leg of mine is fit to travel. 
 It is true that I am quite happy here, but I have a 
 great deal of work waiting for me in Paris ; and 
 what is to become of my pupils, who are all waiting 
 for me to teach them how to paint ? ' 
 
 Stefan sighed again, more heavily than before. 
 " Then I think I must come too/' he said in a sad 
 but determined voice. " If you teach other boys, 
 I think I must be a pupil too. I would work very 
 hard, I promise you, and I would not be afraid to 
 go over the sea. You shall ask my grandfather, 
 Gospodin," he went on earnestly, laying his brown 
 hand on Peter's knee. " He will let me go, I think, 
 and I have nobody else who could stop me." 
 
 Peter put his hand on Stefan's shoulder. 
 
 " My boy," he said, " you know very well that I 
 would give a good deal to take you with me and 
 teach you what I know, or rather to put your gift 
 into better hands than mine for I believe it will 
 be sculpture, not painting, which will be your life- 
 work but I do not know if I should be doing the 
 right thing. Do you know that you might be very 
 lonely far away in France away from all your 
 relatives, among people who speak another language, 
 P 225 
 
TALES OF SERBIAN LIFE 
 
 live in a different way ? Why, Stefan, even the 
 food you ate would be altogether strange ! " this 
 with a little laugh. 
 
 " I do not mind," said Stefan, " I do not mind 
 anything, if only I can go. Please, please, Gospodin, 
 ask of my grandfather this very day that I may go." 
 
 Peter did not feel sure that he was doing right, 
 but later in the day when Grandfather Radovitch 
 came to sit beside him, bearing a wooden box that 
 he was carving, and talking pleasantly about many 
 things, he told him of Stefan's wish. 
 
 At first Grandfather Radovitch shook his head. 
 The boy was young, and had no parents. Then, 
 again, if Stefan did not work on the farm now, and 
 learn the way to manage the cattle, grow the maize, 
 and tend the vineyards, how was he to live when he 
 was a man ? 
 
 As I have said, Grandfather Radovitch could not 
 really understand a life in which there were no cattle 
 and no maize-fields ! And Peter had to tell him 
 many things about the life in France and England 
 before he could understand how Stefan would work 
 at his new task, and how perhaps, if all Peter's hopes 
 were realized, Stefan might some day be a great 
 man. 
 
 " Only, you must not tell him that," he said. 
 " I believe he has a great gift, but we shall see 
 by and by. Will you trust him with me, Ivan 
 Radovitch ? " he said very earnestly. " He shall 
 be to me as my own son, and I will care for him as 
 if I were his father." 
 
 There were many talks on the subject between the 
 226 
 
STEFAN THE COWHERD 
 
 Radovitch family and their friend, and for a while 
 nothing was settled. Katinka's wedding was the 
 next event, and until that was over even Stefan's 
 future had to remain undecided. How Peter 
 Diviner enjoyed all the fun of it for he had never 
 seen so fine a Serbian wedding before and what a 
 splendid gold chain he gave the bride to hang round 
 her neck, specially sent for all the way from Salonika ! 
 
 But when all the excitement was over, and Katinka 
 had gone away to her new home the other side of the 
 village, he began to talk about Stefan again to the 
 grandmother arid grandfather. The talking seemed 
 to be endless, for every one had something to say 
 about it ; but in the end, when the day came for 
 Peter Diviner to say good-bye to his kind hosts and 
 ride along the road which led to Rashka, he did not 
 ride alone. By his side, mounted on a sturdy grey 
 pony, was an excited boy, hardly able even now to 
 understand what a great change was taking place in 
 his life. On the saddle before him was a big bundle 
 all his best clothes, carefully packed by Grand- 
 mother's hands. 
 
 In the courtyard were assembled all the women- 
 folk and his boy cousins his uncles were to ride with 
 him a little way and at the top of the steps his 
 grandfather had solemnly kissed him on either cheek 
 and wished him a safe journey and a path of happi- 
 ness in his. new life. Aunt Katinka had her apron 
 to her eyes, for she was too fond of her nephew to 
 like saying Zbogom even for a day, much less for 
 years. When the horses clattered out of the court- 
 yard on to the road there was a regular fusillade of 
 
 227 
 
TALES OF SERBIAN LIFE 
 
 pistol-shots, to do honour to the departure of the 
 boy who was making such a great journey. 
 
 Grandmother came out to the road with them, and 
 Stefan pulled his pony up and kissed her affection- 
 ately. " It will not be for so very long, Grand- 
 mother," he said, with his arms round her, " and 
 you shall see what fine things I shall bring you." 
 
 " If it were not for thy good, little pigeon, I would 
 not let thee go/' she answered, " but the gospodin 
 has told us that maybe we should do thee a hurt by 
 keeping thee with us and I wish all happiness for 
 thee. May the good God be with thee, O little one I " 
 And she kissed him again and again, till Aunt 
 Katinka came and gently led her by the hand into 
 the courtyard. Stefan had to swallow hard, but he 
 was a big boy and would not shed a tear ; so after 
 a mighty gulp or two he smiled back at the group 
 before the house and waved his hand as gaily as he 
 could, then galloped his pony down the road after 
 the others. 
 
 As he came to the bend of the road he turned in 
 his saddle and looked, for the last time for many a 
 day, at the old farm, at the blue smoke rising above 
 the thatched roof, at the terraced hill-sides where the 
 grapes were purple, and at the golden maize. 
 
 Peter saw him stop, and put a hand on his shoulder. 
 "There is yet time, Stefan," he said softly. "If 
 you think you cannot be happy, I would not have 
 you come. Be very sure, my boy." His voice was 
 kinder than ever, and Stefan looked up at him with 
 eyes of love. 
 
 " It was only for a moment, Gospodin," he said 
 228 
 
STEFAN THE COWHERD 
 
 simply. ' But though I love them all, I would stay 
 with you I do not think, now that I know, that I 
 can ever go away from you." 
 
 And it was with a sober face but a happy heart 
 that Stefan on his grey pony rode out into the 
 Unknown. 
 
 229 
 
CHAPTER III : STEFAN'S RETURN 
 
 IN the old house built round the cobbled court- 
 yard life went on much as usual after Stefan 
 had gone away. Old Ivan Radovitch missed 
 him perhaps more than anybody, for he and his 
 grandson had always liked being together, and no 
 one else was so interested in his carving as Stefan 
 had been. But he felt in his heart that the day 
 would come when the boy would return to Serbia 
 again, and knowing that the lad was in such good 
 hands he was well content to give him his ' chance/ 
 as Peter Diviner, the artist, had called it. They 
 all led such a busy life, too, that there was very little 
 time for fretting over Stefan's going, for the Rado- 
 vitch clan was a large one, and, as was the custom 
 in that part of Serbia, all the members of the family 
 helped each other in the work on the land. None 
 of the sons of Grandfather Radovitch owned land 
 separate from that of the others it all belonged to 
 the clan of which Ivan was the head, or Stareshina, 
 as the Serbs called him and the maize was grown 
 and the cattle reared for the benefit of every one 
 in the clan. Every clan, or zadruga which is its 
 name in the Serbian language owns just as much 
 land and as many animals as its sons and daughters 
 are capable of looking after. Thus a big clan like 
 the Radovitch zadruga has a considerable amount 
 of work to do. To begin with, there is the land 
 to till, the maize and beans to grow, the vine- 
 yards to tend, the plum and apple orchards to care 
 for. Ivan and his family owned droves of cattle 
 230 
 
STEFAN THE COWHERD 
 
 and flocks of sheep, herds of pigs and goats, and 
 a whole farmyard full of poultry. From the eldest 
 to the youngest there was always some work expected 
 of the members of the family ; and even when the 
 barns were full of grain and fodder, and the coming 
 on of the winter cold and snow made work on the 
 land an impossibility, there was wood to cut and fetch 
 in, hams to salt and pork to dry, thatching to renew or 
 hedges to look to, while indoors well, I could hardly 
 tell you of all the things that had to be done there. 
 
 There are not many towns in Serbia, and in the 
 particular part of the country where Stefan's grand- 
 father lived they are very few indeed ; so of course 
 there are few shops, and people have to learn to make 
 many things for themselves which, I suppose, they 
 would simply buy if there happened to be a shop full 
 of them near at hand. 
 
 If one of Stefan's uncles wanted to go fishing in the 
 river, for instance, he would make his own fishing- 
 rod and fisherman's basket, or if he wanted a sledge 
 to bring the wood down from the forest he would 
 have to be his own carpenter. 
 
 In the winter evenings, when the cold winds blew 
 down from the mountains and the snow made the 
 forests look like Fairyland, all the married sons would 
 go into their own houses and sit with their families 
 at work. The women knitted gay stockings for their 
 children, or wove the home-spun flax into linen, 
 from which they would make the clothing for the 
 family; and the little ones knitted too, or wove 
 osiers into baskets, to hold the thousand and one 
 odds and ends of the home. 
 
 231 
 
TALES OF SERBIAN LIFE 
 
 Even when the girls were quite little their mothers 
 would teach them to spin and weave, or to make 
 the fine rugs which the more wealthy Serb peasant 
 likes to hang upon his walls. 
 
 Thus, with so many tasks to keep the hands busy 
 and the mind occupied, it was small wonder if 
 Stefan's absence was felt less than would have been 
 the case in an English home. You must not imagine 
 that they were not all fond of him it was not that 
 at all, but the days just slipped by because they were 
 so brimful of work and play that there was little 
 time for thinking in them. 
 
 Autumn days lengthened into winter, and the 
 snow came and hard frosts. The wolves came down 
 from the mountains, and there were great wolf- 
 hunts, in which Stefan's uncles all joined. At night 
 the doors were tightly shut to keep out the cold 
 winds, and great logs cut that year from the woods 
 blazed on the open hearth. The men were kept busy 
 dragging wood down from the forests in rough sledges, 
 and when the high winds and heavy snows worked 
 destruction in the thatched roofs they would spend 
 laborious days mending and lashing, till all was 
 sound and weather-tight again. The streams were 
 frozen hard, and it was difficult work for the women 
 to wash the clothes for their families, since the water 
 froze on their hands even as they were working. 
 
 Christmas, with all its feasting and gaiety, came 
 and went, and as usual old Ivan's roast pigs were 
 the finest and plumpest in the village, while Grand- 
 mother Radovitch's wheaten cakes were in great 
 request. 
 232 
 
The cold winds blew down from the mountains 
 
 WILLIAM SEWELL 
 
 232 
 
STEFAN THE COWHERD 
 
 That first winter after Stefan's departure was a 
 very long and a very cold one, and the household 
 was quite cut off from the rest of the world by the 
 heavy snows that blocked the roads. Often there 
 would be talk of Stefan, wonderings about him, and 
 questionings as to how news would first come. 
 
 But it was not till spring made the orchards gay 
 with fruit blossom and the meadows bright with 
 early flowers that his first letter arrived. It was 
 brought by a neighbour who had ridden over to 
 Leskovats, and it was read aloud to the whole family 
 by young Marko, who was such a clever scholar. 
 What a fine letter it was too ! telling them of the 
 big school to which Peter Diviner had sent him, 
 all about the funny ways of life in Paris, how he 
 studied in a big ' studio ' where a great master taught 
 the pupils how to carve from marble beautiful figures 
 of man or beast, and of many other wonderful 
 things. 
 
 Stefan's letter told them how he missed them all, 
 but it also showed them how happy he was with 
 Peter Diviner, and Grandmother nodded her head 
 happily as the reading went on. " The boy is in 
 good hands," she said, " and some day he will come 
 back to us." 
 
 Of course some of the things Stefan tried to describe 
 sounded like incidents from fairy stories, though they 
 were just part of the everyday life of a little French 
 boy ; but one does not have motor-cars and tele- 
 phones in a little mountain farm of Serbia, and 
 naturally it was rather difficult for them to under- 
 stand how carriages could run along without horses 
 
 233 
 
TALES OF SERBIAN LIFE 
 
 or oxen, and how one could talk to a friend miles 
 away through a little tube ! 
 
 It was Marko who wrote the letter in reply, and 
 of course he put all the news in that he could possibly 
 think of. Stefan got the letter one sunny day in 
 Paris as he was sitting on the wide window-seat of 
 Peter Diviner's studio, high up above the street, and 
 looking down on the gay, sunshiny world. He was 
 munching a savoury roll with great appetite, for he had 
 been at Monsieur Canier's studio working the whole 
 morning and he was feeling very pleased with life. 
 
 You can judge of his surprise and delight when 
 the letter was handed to him. He tore open the 
 envelope and excitedly began to read what was 
 written in Marko's funny scratchy handwriting. 
 And straightway Paris and all its interests went out 
 of his mind, till only Serbia was left Serbia with its 
 mountains and sparkling rivers, the Serbia that he 
 knew, its hill-sides clothed in green of oak-leaf and 
 satin-grey of beech-bole. The thatched roofs over 
 the whitewashed walls ; the herds of goats with 
 their tinkling bells ; the drowsy, slow-moving oxen 
 drawing the creaking carts ; the old sows rooting 
 for acorns in the forests, while their young ones 
 squealed and raced around them ; the yellow fluffy 
 ducklings and chicks following anxious, broody 
 mothers about the farmyard all the little pictures 
 of his young life came before his eyes as if they had 
 been painted on one of Peter Diviner's canvases. 
 
 He could hear again the creak of the handle as they 
 drew water from the old well in the courtyard, smell 
 the primroses under the ferns on the river-banks, 
 
 234 
 
STEFAN THE COWHERD 
 
 and see the water foaming over the stones where the 
 women pounded the clothes on sunny days. He 
 could feel the soft wind blowing across his face, 
 and hear the gipsy fiddler playing for some kolo 
 dance on the green grass. Oh, what a home-sick little 
 boy was Stefan that day ! And for a few days he 
 fretted for his own country, till Peter Diviner really 
 began to wonder whether he had done wisely in 
 bringing him away. 
 
 Up to that time he had been perfectly happy, 
 learning his lessons, picking up French and English 
 like a little parrot, helping to prepare the simple 
 studio meals, or enjoying the restaurants which the 
 artist frequented. 
 
 And as for his work even Peter was astonished 
 at the rate at which he made progress. The great 
 sculptor who had consented to take him as a pupil 
 was as pleased with his industry as he was surprised 
 by the undoubted gifts he possessed ; and though 
 he never praised his pupils openly, yet to Peter he 
 admitted that there were in Stefan the possibilities 
 of a master. 
 
 And little by little, among the wonderful sur- 
 roundings of his new life, Stefan had been growing 
 a trifle forgetful of his own country and his own 
 people. 
 
 But after Marko's letter came things were different. 
 He soon settled down happily once more to his life 
 with Peter, but never again did his own people and 
 his own country take second place in his thoughts. 
 
 And that was why, when Stefan in after years 
 became a famous sculptor, people spoke of his work 
 
 235 
 
TALES OF SERBIAN LIFE 
 
 as having in it the true Serbian spirit : the love of his 
 country and of her wonderful history had become so 
 essentially a part of himself that everything he did 
 spoke of his native land. 
 
 After that he wrote often to Marko, and now and 
 then letters would come back. Stefan did not expect 
 them very often, because they were so busy always, 
 those Radovitches ! Marko would write saying 
 something like this : 
 
 DEAR COUSIN STEFAN, 
 
 The grapes were good this year, and we have made much 
 wine, but the vineyards on the hill behind the plum orchard have 
 done badly. There must be new vines. My father has sold many 
 pigs this year, and there is a fine fat one to go on the spit to-morrow. 
 
 Yesterday we went to do moba at the house of the widow Yanko- 
 vitch. 
 
 I must tell you what moba is. In Serbia they 
 have a good old tradition which insists that a big 
 household where there are many hands to make 
 work light shall go to the help of a small one to aid 
 with the planting or the harvesting of the crop. 
 
 In the village where Grandfather Radovitch was 
 Stareslrina there were several widows, and every 
 year the whole clan turned out to help them. All 
 day long they would work in the fields, laughing 
 and singing, often with music from a passing gipsy 
 to help them on their way. At evening, work over, 
 every one trooped into the widow's courtyard, and 
 there she would wait at the threshold with water 
 and towels for her guests. Then she would light 
 a wax candle, and carrying it round before the 
 assembled guests she would place it on the wall- 
 236 
 
STEFAN THE COWHERD 
 
 bracket under the picture of her patron saint. 
 Reverently then would they all pray for success on 
 another year's harvest, their faces turned toward 
 the burning candle. The prayer over, every one 
 sat down to a good supper, and afterward came music 
 and dancing. 
 
 So time slipped by very quickly at the Radovitch 
 farm, and inevitably Stefan began to fade a little 
 from the thoughts of his people, since he was no 
 longer a part of their busy daily life. 
 
 Now it came to be time for Dragootin, who was 
 the cousin next in age to Stefan, and son of Andreas, 
 the third son of old Ivan, to be married. His bride 
 had been chosen for him by his father from a village 
 some twenty kilometres away. Dragootin was a 
 big, sturdy fellow, with brown eyes and a laughing 
 mouth indeed, he was always making jokes and fun 
 of some kind or other. 
 
 He was a great favourite among the other lads, 
 because he was such a good rider and a splendid shot. 
 Moreover, he was the best dancer in the village. 
 So it was no wonder that on his wedding morning 
 there was quite a crowd of friends and relations 
 ready to do him honour and form part of the bridal 
 procession, and to keep up the old customs as well 
 as they might. 
 
 It was a glorious summer day, the sky brilliantly 
 blue, and all the gardens full of flowers. Almost 
 as soon as it was daylight the guests had begun to 
 arrive, and the courtyard was full of horses, their 
 heads ornamented with flowers, and with coloured 
 handkerchiefs or embroidered hand-towels behind 
 
 237 
 
TALES OF SERBIAN LIFE 
 
 their ears. Every one was very gay, drinking 
 Dragootin's health in red wine and making jokes 
 and laughter. As is the custom in Serbia, the 
 bridegroom had to ride to the bride's village to fetch 
 her home, accompanied by his friends. 
 
 " Are we all ready to start ? ' said Andreas, 
 coming out of the house, his wife following him with 
 a big bottle of their very best wine for Dragootin's 
 stirrup-cup. " Surely we shall be late, for the sun 
 is already high.'' 
 
 " Wait till the Room has finished," said Dragootin's 
 mother. " See, he .is giving out the powder for the 
 pistols you would not have our boy go off without 
 a really fine salute, and let our neighbours think that 
 we had no pride in the marriage ? There is plenty 
 of powder and plenty of time, but men are always 
 in a hurry." 
 
 Up came the Koom at this moment and handed 
 some powder to Andreas, who took it without saying 
 any more he was rather a silent man as a rule. 
 The Koom is a very important person at a Serbian 
 wedding, and he is generally the son of the man who 
 was Koom to the parent of the bridegroom. He has 
 to witness the wedding in the church, to pay for the 
 gipsy musicians who play all day long for the wedding 
 guests, and it is his duty to provide plenty of gun- 
 powder, so that there is much pistol firing no Serbian 
 festivities would be complete without a great deal 
 of such noise ! 
 
 Dragootin was getting rather impatient, and he was 
 glad when the procession began to form up and he 
 could take his place in it. 
 
 238 
 
STEFAN THE COWHERD 
 
 At the head of the wedding party rode the Chutura- 
 bearer, who carried the chutura a flat wooden vessel 
 filled with red wine and decorated with embroidered 
 towels and silver coins which the wedding guests 
 presented to him when he brought them their 
 invitation. He must ride on horseback and carry 
 the chutura without spilling any of the red wine, 
 and whoever he meets on the road to the wedding 
 must be offered some of the wine. He is a kind of 
 court jester too, for the day, and makes funny remarks 
 all the time about everybody and everything. 
 
 Next after the Chutura rode the standard-bearer 
 and the Voyvoda, or leader, whose orders all the 
 wedding guests have to obey while on the journey. 
 Then came a carriage drawn by two horses, and in 
 the carriage rode the bridesmaids, carrying flowers 
 and the wedding dress, which the bridegroom's 
 father had bought for the bride. Next came 
 Dragootin, in his. best clothes, with a fine embroidered 
 shirt and a velvet waistcoat, a gay flower stuck be- 
 hind his ear, and a pair of really beautiful boots. 
 On his right hand rode the Room, and on his left the 
 Stari Svat, who is the second witness to the wedding, 
 and who stands behind the bride in the church while 
 the Room takes up his place behind the bridegroom. 
 
 After these there came all the other relatives and 
 guests, riding two and two, and Dragootin had so 
 many people to see him married that I can hardly 
 tell you the length of the procession ! 
 
 All the way along the road the wedding guests 
 sang and made jokes. It really was a very happy 
 party, and the ride almost too short. 
 
 239 
 
TALES OF SERBIAN LIFE 
 
 When they came to the courtyard gate of the 
 bride's home they found it closed, as is the custom, 
 and they could not be admitted till some of them 
 had fired at a pot fastened to the highest branch of 
 the highest tree in the courtyard. Dragootin him- 
 self fired the lucky shot, and the pot fell shattered 
 to pieces. Then the gates were flung open ; there 
 was a firing of pistols in welcome, a squealing of 
 bagpipes, and a scraping of violins altogether quite 
 one of the j oiliest welcomes it is possible to imagine. 
 
 The whole party trooped gaily in, dismounted, 
 and were led by the bride's relatives to the tables, 
 which groaned under the weight of roast lamb and 
 roast pig, ducks and geese, cakes, and white and red 
 wine. 
 
 In one of the wooden houses in the courtyard the 
 bride was waiting, and the bridesmaids went in to 
 her to robe her in her fine wedding dress, to put 
 flowers in her hair and her necklace of silver coins 
 round her neck. When she was quite ready her 
 eldest brother came to the door of the house and led 
 her out by the hand. As she stepped out she was 
 greeted by a lively fire from the rifles and pistols of 
 Dragootin's friends, and her bridesmaids held up be- 
 fore her eyes a little wreath made of sweet basil and 
 some other flowers, because it is considered lucky 
 that she should first see her bridegroom on her 
 wedding day looking through this wreath. 
 
 After that her brother led her round to kiss the 
 hands of the guests, beginning with the Room and 
 the Stari Svat, and when that was over her brother 
 led her to the kitchen, where in front of the hearth, 
 240 
 
STEFAN THE COWHERD 
 
 on which a bright fire was burning, her father and 
 mother sat in low wooden chairs. Pretty Yelitsa 
 kissed the hand of each of her parents, then bowed 
 very, very low before the hearth, and kissed the earth 
 in front of it. This is to symbolize the sacredness 
 of family life and the hearth as the centre of it. 
 Rising up she bowed deeply before her father and 
 mother, who embraced her fondly and gave her their 
 blessing. Then her brother handed her over to the 
 care of the Dever y or bride-leader, who has to conduct 
 the bride through the rest of the ceremonies of the 
 day. 
 
 Now it was time for the party to start for the 
 church, so every one mounted again and, firing 
 diligently with their pistols and rifles, started in 
 procession once more, Yelitsa riding next to the 
 Dever. 
 
 The wedding ceremony, in the domed church on 
 the hill, did not take very long, and when next the 
 procession of wedding guests halted it was at the old 
 Radovitch homestead. 
 
 The Dever lifted Yelitsa from her horse, being 
 careful that she should set her right foot on a sack 
 of oats which had been placed before the gate. 
 From the sack she had to step on a plough, and from 
 the plough to the threshold of the gate. 
 
 Here Aunt Anka was waiting for her with her 
 baby boy in her arms. Yelitsa took the child in her 
 arms and raised him as high as she could, then kissed 
 him and handed him back to his mother. 
 
 Next Dragootin's little sister Maria stepped for- 
 ward, and under each of Yelftsa's arms she placed a 
 
 Q 
 
TALES OF SERBIAN LIFE 
 
 loaf of wheaten bread, and in each hand a bottle 
 filled with red wine. With these emblems of wealth 
 and prosperity the little bride crossed the threshold 
 of her new home. 
 
 In the kitchen Dragootin's father and mother 
 were waiting for her, in front of the hearth, on which 
 was spread, right and left, burning wood and coal. 
 After she had kissed their hands, her mother-in-law 
 led her three times round the hearth, and placed a 
 shovel in her hand, with which she was to stoop 
 and gather into one heap the scattered burning coal. 
 Every bride coming into the house must do this, so 
 that her presence helps to unite the family and 
 make for the peace and happiness of the whole 
 zadruga. 
 
 Now you can just imagine how hungry every one 
 was after the long ride, and when Yelitsa stepped 
 out of the kitchen with her hand in that of her 
 mother-in-law there was a shout of welcome from 
 the wedding guests, who were already seated round 
 the long tables in the courtyard. The Room pre- 
 sided over one table, and the Stan Svat over the 
 other, but Yelitsa had to stand with the Dever all 
 through the banquet, and opposite her was the 
 CAw/wra-bearer. 
 
 But before they could begin the wedding feast 
 one of Yelitsa's sisters came shyly forward, bearing 
 presents in her arms for all the guests, and as she 
 gave them round the Chutura-bearer kept up a 
 running fire of remarks about them, so that he kept 
 both of the tables in roars of laughter. 
 
 Then the feast began, and even here the Chutura 
 242 
 
STEFAN THE COWHERD 
 
 man made jokes about the provisions, which every 
 guest had brought to the party as his contribution. 
 By a useful old custom in Serbia, where many guests 
 are present at a wedding-feast every guest brings 
 something to help out the good cheer. So some had 
 brought red wine and others white, some had brought 
 a cheese and others a roast kid, till the tables simply 
 groaned under the weight of it all ! 
 
 The Chutura-bearer made fun of everything and 
 every one, but nobody minded, because it was just 
 the custom. 
 
 " Here," he would say, " is our rich friend Lovro 
 Tankossitch. Who would have thought that the 
 chicken which he has brought for the feast had ever 
 been a tiny bird running beside its mother I think 
 rather that it died last week just of old age. And 
 here is the gift of our rich farmer Dobrinko Yesitch : 
 one would have imagined that a roast pig would 
 have been his idea of a nice present for the bride ; 
 but no he thought a better one would be a cheese. 
 And such a cheese ! I beg of you to notice it well 
 you can tell it by the smell ; but you must watch 
 it carefully, for it is such a clever cheese that if you 
 are not keeping both eyes on it it may walk right off 
 the table." 
 
 " And here," he continued, " is a bottle of red wine, 
 brought by our friend Radovan, who had used up 
 all the vinegar in his big vinegar bottle, so thought 
 he would just use some of the last year's vintage 
 instead ; and now he is not quite sure whether it is 
 vinegar or wine he has brought to the banquet ; but 
 we shall soon see by the faces the guests will make." 
 
 243 
 
TALES OF SERBIAN LIFE 
 
 And so on, about everything on the table, till 
 every one's gift had been described in this funny way. 
 
 So the merry feast went on. There was singing 
 and jesting, and the gipsy players fiddled their 
 hardest. 
 
 Suddenly down the road came the sound of hoofs, 
 of a horse galloping in hot haste, and the voice of his 
 rider could be plainly heard urging him on : " Go, 
 good Velko do not let your hoofs touch the ground, 
 or I shall be too late for the wedding feast." Every 
 one looked up in amazement, for all the invited guests 
 were here, sitting round the tables. Who was this 
 guest coming unbidden to the feast ? 
 
 Dragootin's father and his two uncles rose from 
 their seats and hurried to the gates of the courtyard. 
 The next minute they returned to the astonished 
 company leading a stranger, a tall youth dressed in 
 black European clothes, just like the mayor of the 
 village, only without his velvet coat. 
 
 " Don't you remember me ? " cried the new-comer. 
 " Why, uncles and Dragootin, do you not know little 
 Stefan, your little Stefan, who has ridden all the way 
 to be here in time for the wedding feast ? ' 
 
 There was silence for a second scarcely anyone 
 could recognize in this grand stranger, so tall, so 
 straight (and oh, so handsome, as all the guests 
 whispered admiringly to each other), the little 
 boy who had gone across the sea five long years 
 ago ! 
 
 But Grandmother Radovitch hurried across the 
 courtyard, and put her arms tight round the stranger's 
 neck, for she could not make any mistake ! 
 244 
 
STEFAN THE COWHERD 
 
 Then there was a shout of welcome ! Such 
 embracing and salutations ! And Stefan must sit 
 down in his fine broadcloth suit at the place of 
 honour among the guests, and drink the health of 
 his cousin in red wine and white ; and the pretty 
 bride must come and kiss his hand shyly. 
 
 Then Stefan pulled out of his pocket a box and 
 opened it, and inside was the finest brooch that 
 anyone there had ever seerfe all sparkling gems and 
 fine gold ; for you must not think that Stefan had 
 come back empty-handed. 
 
 " My cousin Dragootin will let me place this on 
 his bride's wedding bodice/' he said; "for though 
 I did not know till I came to the village of Luditsa 
 that my cousin here was to be married, yet am 
 I happy not to have come without a little bride- 
 gift/' 
 
 Then there was another shout of " Welcome home 
 again, Stefan ! " and all his cousins crowded round 
 to hear him talk of his wonderful life in far-away 
 France of how he worked in the studio learning his 
 art under a great master ; of Peter Diviner and his 
 goodness to the Serb boy ; of the big streets and the 
 crowded cafes ; of the house where he and Peter lived 
 and worked ; of the studio cat Mimi and her Persian 
 kittens ; of the other boys who went with him to the 
 big school at night to learn all manner of things ; 
 of wonderful music he had heard, and wonderful 
 plays he had seen. On and on went the story, and 
 all the wedding guests clustered close round him to 
 hear all he had to say. 
 
 Never very far from Stefan was his proud old 
 
 245 
 
TALES OF SERBIAN LIFE 
 
 grandmother, not very much changed in these five 
 years, and his grandfather Ivan, whose fine white 
 beard was perhaps a little whiter, but that was all. 
 
 " And what will you do now, Stefan ? " asked one 
 of his uncles. " Have you forgotten how to herd the 
 cattle and tend the vines ? There will not be many 
 vineyards in Paris, I should think/' 
 
 " There is talk of my learning more/' answered 
 Stefan modestly. " See you, Uncle, I have won 
 a great prize they call it the Prize of Rome, and 
 the young artist who wins this honour may go to 
 Rome itself, and there study among the greatest 
 works of the world." 
 
 " And thou hast won this prize ? 'Tis an honour 
 indeed ! " said his grandmother proudly. 
 
 " Yes; and moreover now the good Peter Diviner 
 will be at no charge for thee," added his grandfather 
 shrewdly; " and that is good my grandson is not 
 a pauper that one should always be at expense for 
 him. But the good Peter Diviner would not permit 
 when he took thee away that any but he should 
 bear the cost of all thy learning. Good, very good, 
 O Stefan ! " 
 
 " And when I have learnt still more in Rome/' 
 went on Stefan eagerly, " I shall make fine statues, 
 and people will buy them they have already bought 
 some small things that I have made with my hands, 
 where they were sent with certain others to the great 
 Exhibition. And then every one I know shall have 
 gifts worthy of them. But you shall see my bag, 
 what it holds of gifts, Grandmother/' 
 
 " Afterward, my boy," she laughed. " We must 
 246 
 
STEFAN THE COWHERD 
 
 not forget, in the joy of thy home-coming, that our 
 guests are waiting to dance kolo." 
 
 " Have you forgotten how to dance kolo ? " laughed 
 Stefan's cousins. 
 
 " Bid them play ' Igralka Kolo/ and all shall 
 see if I have forgotten kolo," answered Stefan, with a 
 big smile on his face. 
 
 And as the gipsies struck up the tune he linked 
 arms with one of his young cousins and soon was 
 dancing away with the best of them. Dragootin 
 drew his bride into another circle, and soon every 
 one was dancing, till at last the sun fell low and 
 the big bonfires were lighted in the courtyard. And 
 still they danced, leaping right across the flames, 
 which lit up the brown faces and gay costumes ; 
 danced till the supper-tables were once more groan- 
 ing under the weight of more good things ; danced 
 after the good things were all consumed, and all the 
 red wine had been drunk ; danced until the harvest 
 moon lit up the sky with a silver radiance ; and at 
 last the wedding guests danced their way right out 
 of the courtyard and up the long, quiet road, white 
 under the moonshine, till they reached their homes 
 in the village and the sound of their laughing voices 
 faded into the distance. 
 
 Then Dragootin drew his bride into their new 
 home, and Stefan went back to the old kitchen with 
 his grandfather and grandmother. Over the fire 
 they talked and talked, till the two old people were 
 tired and glad to go to bed. But Stefan was not in 
 the mood for sleep, and he opened the house door 
 and stood looking out at the moonlight. 
 
 247 
 
TALES OF SERBIAN LIFE 
 
 All was quiet at last there were no lights in any 
 of the wooden houses round the courtyard, where 
 his uncles and aunts lived with their children a 
 peaceful, happy family life. The moon shone full 
 on the white, empty road and cast shadows down 
 from the walnut-trees. Only the frogs were awake, 
 croaking companionably in a little pond hard by. 
 
 Stefan stepped out of the house and went softly 
 down the wooden steps. He pushed open the court- 
 yard gate and walked out into the road. He had 
 changed his fine clothes for a suit of homespun, and 
 his feet went softly in the opanke of his boyhood's 
 days. 
 
 Every inch of him was savouring the home smells 
 and the home sounds, and his eyes were bright as he 
 wandered slowly down the road. And as he walked, 
 his feet making no sound in the white dust, it seemed 
 as though the past five years had slipped away 
 from him and he was just a little peasant boy again, 
 herding the goats on the mountain-side, and dancing 
 kolo in the summer days with the other boys. 
 
 He remembered with pleasure how the Serb voices 
 had sounded that day in the old familiar tongue- 
 he could taste again the maize bread and smell the 
 fiery rakija on the table of the wedding feast. 
 
 Nothing had changed in that quiet life every- 
 thing was just the same, and always would be. 
 
 " Ah, -it's good to be in a man's home again,' 1 
 said Stefan contentedly to himself, " and that was 
 a famous wedding that we had to-day. But if I 
 stay here they will marry me too, and then what 
 about the Prix de Rome ? I think really it will be 
 248 
 
STEFAN THE COWHERD 
 
 best for me to go back to my Peter and my little 
 carven figures/' 
 
 And with a contented little grunt he went sleepily 
 back to the house, and soon was fast asleep under 
 the moonshine. 
 
 And did Stefan stay in the village ? Well, no, I 
 am afraid not. There was much work for him to 
 do, and he would not have been the great sculptor 
 he afterward became if he had not wanted to do it. 
 
 Yet he often came back to put on the brown 
 homespun and the leather sandals, to eat the goat's- 
 milk cheese and drink the thin red wine, to dance 
 kolo on the green, and to gladden the hearts of the 
 grandfather and grandmother by his cheery voice. 
 
 So long as Stefan lived the love of Serbia was 
 always strong in his heart ; nothing came between 
 neither fame nor wealth nor work nor pleasure. 
 
 And the statue by which he is best known is the 
 beautiful one of a young peasant boy with one arm 
 thrown round the neck of a goat. And here I will 
 let you into a secret. The boy was Stefan and the 
 goat was Zita, and the goat was copied from the 
 tiny figure in red clay which long years before 
 Stefan had modelled on the hill-side as he lay watch- 
 ing the herd, and which Peter Diviner had seen on 
 that sunny day which first made them friends. 
 
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