"What can the smith have been about!" whined the coachman shaking his head, "and yet his lordship had a look at them too!"
"Devil take your smith, and his lordship also for the matter of that. The whole lot of you deserves hanging." And it was a good thing for the coachman that he happened to be standing on the other side of the horses, as otherwise he would certainly have had a taste of Squire Gerzson's riding whip.
Henrietta, who had hitherto been sleeping quietly in the carriage, aroused by the loud voices, put her head out of the window and timidly inquired what was the matter. At the first sound of her voice, Squire Gerzson grew as mild as a lamb.
"Nothing much," said he. "I have only been trying to put together again my broken pipe-stem, the carriage-wheel has gone over my pipe, that is all."
"But where are we now?" asked Henrietta, peeping curiously out of the carriage. Then of course they had to tell her the truth.
"We are three leagues from the station in front of us, and about four from the one behind us, and there is no prospect of our getting on any further. All four horses are lame, they have been damaged during the shoeing."
"What steeple is that in front of us?"
"Oroshaza, I fancy, but with these four lame horses I don't believe we shall get there before midnight."
Henrietta perceived the confusion of the old gentleman, who for sheer rage and worry could not keep his hat on his burning head, so she tried to comfort him.
"Never mind, dear papa Gerzson, not far from here must lie Leonard's csárdá. You and I, papa Gerzson, might go on there with the horses while the coachman makes the best of his way on foot to Oroshaza, where he can get fresh horses and join us early in the morning at the csárdá."