The herd neared the bank in straggling order, and reaching the shallows, waded out to dry land. The herdsman was behind, for cattle swim faster than a horse. When he too landed, he undid the stock-whip from his neck and cracked it loudly.
"There! He's turning them!" said the market people to console the drovers.
But the cracking of a whip only serves to make cattle run on the faster.
The passengers found much exercise for their wit in this cattle incident. The ferry-men assured them with oaths that it was not the first time by any means that it had happened. Beasts brought from the Hortobágy so often were assailed by home sickness that no sooner was the ferry-boat put in motion than they would turn restive and spring overboard, swim to the bank, and run back to the puszta.
"Men have the same love of home and country," said the ginger-bread man, who, having often read of it in books, recognised the complaint.
"Ah, yes!" exclaimed Mistress Pundor, "no doubt the cows have gone home to their little calves. That was the mistake, to separate the children from their dear mothers!"
"Now my idea is different," said the cobbler, who was nothing if not sceptical. "I have heard often enough that those cunning betyárs, when they want to scatter a herd, put some grease in their pipes. The beasts, when they smell it, go stark, staring mad, and scuttle away in all directions. Then it is easy enough for the betyár to catch a nice little lot for himself. Now I scent something of the sort in this business."
"What you smell something, Daddy, and you don't run away from it?"
Everyone laughed.
"Wait a bit! Just you wait till we get on shore!" said the cobbler.