"My father used to tell me many stories and legends, but I never remembered them very well."
"Marushka, you will be very tired before you reach the village. Curl up on the seat and perhaps you can take a nap."
"Yes, Aszszony," Marushka said obediently, and she and Banda were very quiet.
It was a long drive, but at last the cart rattled down the street of a large village and drew up in front of a white house. Marushka was already asleep and had to be carried into the house. Banda Bela stumbled along after the shepherd's wife and, though with his eyes half shut, obediently ate the bread and milk she put before him. Then he found himself on the kitchen floor before a huge tub of water, with a cake of soap and a large towel.
"Strip! Scrub!" commanded Aszszony Semeyer. "Scrub till you are clean from head to foot, then dry yourself, and I will bring you some clothes. You will never see these again." She picked up a brass tongs from the huge fireplace and with them carried the boy's rags out of the room, her nose fairly curling at the corners with disgust.
Banda Bela did his best. The water was cold, for Hungarians enjoy cold baths, and at the first plunge his teeth chattered. But after a while he rather enjoyed it and scrubbed himself till his dark skin glowed freshly, in spots, it is true, yet he thought it quite wonderful. Not so Aszszony Semeyer. She entered the kitchen, red and flushed with her labours in scouring Marushka.
"You are not clean, no! I will show you—" and she caught up a scrubbing brush. Banda Bela gasped. He would not cry. He was too big a boy for that, but he felt as if he were being ironed with a red-hot iron. Arms, legs, and back,—all were attacked so fiercely that he wondered if there would be any skin left. Half an hour she worked, then wiped him dry and said:
"Now you look like a tame Christian! You are not really clean, it will take many scrubbings to make you that—and more to keep you so—but the worst is done." She cut his wild locks close to his head and surveyed her work proudly.
"Not such a bad-looking boy," she said to herself. "Now for a night shirt and bed." She threw over his head an old cotton shirt and led him up to the attic. "Sleep here," she said, pointing to a clean little bed in one corner. "Rest well and to-morrow we shall see what we can do."