"Oh, no!" The eyes of the boy glowed. "She is a famous singer, but I shall not see her again, because she has forgotten me long ago—and so I have nobody to look after me, no mother, no father, although I was adjudged to him. I used to be very sad about it, but since Palko came to us, and I believed in the Lord Jesus Christ, and received Him in my heart, I am no more just a forsaken orphan, because He loves me, and He it with me." The boy stopped because the lady became very pale, and the arm with which she had caressed him, fell down and a deep sigh escaped her lips.
"Aunty!" cried the scared boy, and not in vain. Aunty Moravec ran into the room. She washed the deathly-pale face of the lady with some kind of fine-smelling water. She placed a cushion under her head and put her feet on the sofa. After a while, the lady began to breathe better again. Aunty took the boy by the hand and led him to the kitchen. At his anxious questioning she told him only that the lady was still very weak and must rest. Ondrejko repeated to her what they had been speaking about together. At hearing this, Aunty sighed and caressed him, and said, "It is all in vain. It had to come and the sooner the better." She did not hinder Ondrejko from going home, but did not allow him to carry the crock.
"Send Palko, in the afternoon. He promised to take the lady to you.
From tomorrow on, she is to come to your sheepfold to drink the whey.
The doctor ordered that."
"But is she not sick?" the boy said, showing some anxiety.
"She is not sick any more, only weak, and this weakness she must overcome by walking," responded Aunty.
In this world there is no sweetness without bitterness. If something strange had not happened, that boy would have returned home very proud and happy. Thus Bacha Filina found him not far away, all in tears, and when he took him into his strong arms like a little lamb, the boy threw both arms around his neck and told him everything.
"Bacha, I have surely said something bad, though I really don't know what, and she became very sad about it," cried Ondrejko.
"Do not cry," the man comforted him. "You said only what the Lord God put in your mouth. Anyway, when the lady comes in the afternoon, all will be well again."
With these words, the Bacha carried the tired boy to his wooden hut, laid him on the bed, and sat beside him. He stroked his arm and forehead, and before long he had put his little charge to sleep. Then he looked at him once more, sadly, and left. About half-an-hour later the herdsmen found him dressed in his Sunday suit going in the direction of the "Old Hag's Rock." They thought he was going to town, and wondered why, because he had been there only yesterday.
At the same time, bitter crying sounded in Palko's cottage, which Aunty Moravec could in no way silence. There the weeping lady said, "He was here; he, my beautiful golden-headed child, and I did not know him. The heavy crock he brought to me himself. He wanted to see me, but did not recognize me. How could he, when I myself did not know him? That his own mother forgot him long ago is not true. All the glory of the world could not replace my lost treasure. Oh, my father, my father! If you only knew what became of your daughter! You taught her to fold her hands in prayer, but she forgot everything—even that. Unfortunate, betrayed wife, craven mother! If you only knew how your warnings have been literally fulfilled!"