He wanted to say something complimentary, but could not find suitable words, and as chance would have it, his next words were nearer to swearing than to a compliment, for the shaft of the carriage broke. The ladies were alarmed, and Gyuri jumped down from his seat to see the extent of the damage done. It was bad enough, for it had broken off just near the base.
"What are we to do now?" exclaimed János. "I said this place was only fit for birds, who neither walk nor drive."
"Oh, that is nothing serious," said Gyuri, who at that moment was not to be put out by a shaft, nor by a hundred shafts.
"Give me your axe, and you go and hold the horses. I'll soon bring you something to fasten the shaft to, and strengthen it."
He took the axe out of the tool-box under the coachman's seat, said a few words to reassure the ladies, and then jumped the ditch by the side of the road.
There were some trees there, but they were as rare as the hairs on the head of an old man. First came a birch, then a hazelnut bush, then a black-thorn, then a bare piece of ground without any trees, and then again a few old trees. So it was rather difficult to find a suitable tree; one was too big, another too small; so Gyuri went on and on in search of one, and got so far that soon the carriage was out of sight, and only Veronica's red sunshade was to be seen in the distance, like a large mushroom. At length his eyes fell on a young birch, which grew near to a small precipice. It was too big for a seedling and too small for a tree, but well-grown and promising. All the same it must be sacrificed, and down came the axe.
But hardly had two or three blows been struck, when a voice was heard, crying out:
Gyuri started and turned round. Who had called? The voice seemed quite close, but no one was visible far and near.
Again the call for help was repeated, and now it seemed to come out of the earth, and Gyuri immediately concluded it came from the precipice, and ran toward it.