Debts of Honor | Page 6

to take it, but grandmother objected. Finally, however, they agreed that he should take gun and cartridges, but should not load the weapon until he saw a necessity for it.
In the mean while I staggered about from room to room. It seemed as if everybody had considerations of more importance than that of looking after me.
In the afternoon, however, when I saw my brother making him ready for a journey, despair seized hold of me:
"Take me with you."
"Why, you don't even know where I am going."
"I don't mind; I will go anywhere, only take me with you; for I cannot remain all by myself."
"Well, I will ask grandmother."
My brother exchanged a few words with my grandmother, and then came back to me.
"You may come with me. Take your stick and coat."
He slung his gun on his shoulder and took his dog with him.
Once again this thought agonized me afresh: "Father is dead, and we go for an afternoon's shooting, with grandmother's consent as if nothing had happened."
We went down through the gardens, all along the loam-pits; my brother seemed to be choosing a route where we should meet with no one. He kept the dog on the leash to prevent its wandering away. We went a long way, roaming among maize-fields and shrubs, without the idea once occurring to Lorand to take the gun down from his shoulder. He kept his eyes continually on the ground, and would always silence the dog, when the animal scented game.
Meantime we had left the village far behind us. I was already quite tired out, and yet I did not utter a syllable to suggest our returning. I would rather have gone to the end of the world than return home.
It was already twilight when we reached a small poplar wood. Here my brother suggested a little rest. We sat down side by side on the trunk of a felled tree. Lorand offered me some cakes he had brought in his wallet for me. How it pained me that he thought I wanted anything to eat. Then he threw the cake to the hound. The hound picked it up and, disappearing behind the bushes, we heard him scratch on the ground as he buried it. Not even he wanted to eat. Next we watched the sunset. Our village church-tower was already invisible, so far had we wandered, and yet I did not ask whether we should return.
The weather became suddenly gloomy; only after sunset did the clouds open, that the dying sun might radiate the heavens with its storm-burdened red fire. The wind suddenly rose. I remarked to my brother that an ugly wind was blowing, and he answered that it was good for us. How this great wind could be good for us, I was unable to discover.
When later the heavens gradually changed from fire red to purple, from purple to gray, from gray to black, Lorand loaded his gun, and let the hound loose. He took my hand. I must now say not a single word, but remain motionless. In this way we waited long that boisterous night.
I racked my brain to discover the reason why we were there.
On a sudden our hound began to whine in the distance--such a whine as I had never yet heard.
Some minutes later he came reeling back to us; whimpering and whining, he leaped up at us, licked our hands, and then raced off again.
"Now let us go," said Lorand, shouldering his gun.
Hurriedly we followed the hound's track, and soon came out upon the high-road.
In the gloom a hay-cart drawn by four oxen, was quietly making its way to its destination.
"God be praised!" said the old farm-laborer, as he recognized my brother.
"For ever and ever."
After a slight pause my brother asked him if there was anything wrong?
"You needn't fear, it will be all right."
Thereupon we quietly sauntered along behind the hay-wagon.
My brother uncovered his head, and so proceeded on his way bareheaded; he said he was very warm. We walked silently for a distance until the old laborer came back to us.
"Not tired, Master Desi?" he asked; "you might take a seat on the cart."
"What are you thinking of, John?" said Lorand; "on this cart?"
"True; true, indeed," said the aged servant. Then he quietly crossed himself, and went forward to the oxen.
When we came near the village, old John again came toward us.
"It will be better now if the young gentlemen go home through the gardens; it will be much easier for me to get through the village alone."
"Do you think they are still on guard?" asked Lorand.
"Of course they know already. One cannot take it amiss; the poor fellows have twice in ten years had their hedges broken down by the hail."
"Stupidity!" answered my brother.
"May be," sighed the old serving-man. "Still the poor man thinks