"I say, Mrs. Adamecz, where have you put the old handle of the church umbrella?"
Widow Adamecz finished frying her pancake, put it on a wooden platter with those she had already fried, and then turned round to see who was speaking to her.
"What have I done with the old handle, my dear? Well, you see, this is how it was. My little grandson, Matykó, got ill last year just at cabbage-cutting time—no, I believe it was earlier in the year ..."
"I don't care when it was, only go on."
Widow Adamecz quietly poured some more of the batter into the frying-pan.
"Let me see, what was I saying? Ah, yes, I was speaking of Matykó. Well, it was the result of the staring."
(The peasants think that if a child is much looked at and admired it pines away.)
Gyuri began impatiently to tap with his foot on the floor.
"Will you tell me where it is?"
"It is there under the table."