Master Jock, according to good old custom, had fifty ducats ready, which he gave to the veterans who had brought the ox. As for the ox itself, he ordered that it should be roasted forthwith for the benefit of the assembled peasantry.
After them came the youths of the town, rolling before them a ten-firkin cask full of the wine of Hegyalja. They brought the cask to a standstill at the feet of the Nabob, and set on the top of it Martin, the former Whitsun King, as being the one among them whose tongue wagged the nimblest. He took a beaker and, filling it with wine, thus toasted his honour:—
"God willing, I desire and pray that the Majesty of Heaven may suffer your honour, both to-day and hereafter, to go about clothed in velvet well patched with gold ducats, and ride a good nag shod with silver shoes. I pray that your honour may not be able to count the hairs of your head, and that as many blessings may be showered upon your shoulders as you have lost hairs from your poll. I pray that all the ministering angels of heaven may have nothing else to do but sweep all earthly cares out of your honour's path. I pray that the golden-spurred csizmas of your felicity may never be bespattered by the puddles of tribulation. I pray that the field-flask of your good humour may always be filled with the red wine of Eger. And, finally, when that merciless scytheman cometh who makes hay of every man, and mows down your honour with the rest of them, I pray that the chariots of heaven may not keep your honour's soul awaiting, but that the
horses of the other world may arrive speedily, and, with a great sound of trumpets, convey you to that great forecourt where Abraham, Isaac, and the other Jewish patriarchs, side by side with three and thirty red-breeched, heaven-ascended gipsy fiddlers, dance the Kálla duet in velvet pump-hose. God grant your honour many more days! I wish it from the bottom of my heart."
Master Jock handsomely recompensed the youth who had rattled off this odd salutation without missing a word. Yet it was observed that he did not take as much pleasure in it as of yore.
And now a pretty young damsel approached—the loveliest virgin that could be found within the limits of seven villages. She brought him a white lamb as a birthday present, and made him some sort of a speech besides; but what it was all about nobody could tell, she spoke so low. They kept on telling her not to hold her apron before her mouth, as they could not hear a word; but it was of no use.
It was a good old custom on Master Jock's birthday to admit the damsel who made the pretty speech on this occasion among the guests, and seat her beside Master Jock at table; and thus she was the only woman present at the banquet. And rumour added that still worse things befell towards the end of the feast, when the wine had mounted into the heads of the guests, and the lamb-maiden had been caught in the whirl of an unwonted carouse. But she was always married to some one afterwards; for Master Jock used to give her a rich dowry, and she got six oxen from her own father into the bargain to set up with. So the good peasants were not very much alarmed at the prospect of bringing their daughters to Kárpáthy Castle.
Master Jock, with patriarchal condescension,
approached the damsel, pinched her cheek, patted her head, and asked her kindly—
"What is thy name, my daughter?"