"Gracious master, just look, thieves have been in! We have been robbed!"
Sure enough it was so; the whole house had been completely rifled of valuables. So thoroughly had the work been done that only the empty chairs and tables remained.
Böske broke into a wail of despair.
"Hush, be quiet," ordered Ráby sternly, putting his hand over her mouth.
"But they've broken into my trunk," she cried; "they have stolen my new petticoat, and best kerchief, and my shoes with the rosettes."
"Never mind," said her master consolingly, "to-morrow I'll take you to Buda, and buy you some fresh ones. These are trifles. The thieves probably came after my papers, but those I luckily had with me."
At this Böske was appeased, also she remarked it was a comfort the lady-mistress had taken the embroidered quilt with her, so the thieves were done out of that at any rate.
"But where is the house-dog?"
They found the poor beast, by the well, stiff and dead.
"The brutes!" cried Böske, horrified; "they have drowned him, they have not even left us the dog alive."