But the girl pleaded so hard to be allowed to stay, to lean her head on the table and thus steal a nap, that he at last let her do as she pleased. Suddenly she awoke with a start to find it was day, and the sparrows were twittering at the windows.
The patient was then dreaming as well as sleeping. His lips moved, he murmured something and laughed. His eyes half opened, but evidently with a great effort, for they closed immediately. But his parched lips seemed to be asking for something.
"Shall I give you water?" whispered the girl.
"Yes," he muttered, with his eyes shut.
So she brought him the water bottle, but he had not strength enough in his arms—this great fellow—even to raise the tumbler to his mouth. She had to lift his head and give it to him. Even while drinking he fell half asleep.
Hardly had his head touched the pillow when he began to hum aloud—probably a continuation of the gay air of his dreams:
"Why not love this world of ours?
Gypsy maid, Magyar maid, both are flowers."
CHAPTER VI.
A day or two later the lad was on his feet again. Such tough fellows as he, born and bred on the puszta, do not linger long on the sick list when once the crisis is past. They abhor bed. So on the third day he told the doctor that he wished to get back to the horses at his place of service.