The shining star set, also the moon. The horse left the pasture and returned to its master. Very gently he stepped along, as if fearing to wake him, and stretching out his long neck, bent his head over him to see if he slept.
"No, I'm not asleep. Come here, old fellow," said the csikós.
At that the horse began to whinny joyously, and lay down near his master.
The herdsman raised himself on his elbows, and rested his head on his hand. Here was someone to speak with—an intelligent beast.
"You see!" he said. "You see, my Vidám? That is the way with a girl! Outside gold, inside silver. When she speaks the truth it is half false; when she lies it is half true! No one will ever learn to understand her. . . . You know how much I loved her! . . . How often I made your sides bleed as I spurred you on to carry me the quicker to her! . . . How often I tied you up at the door in snow and mud, in freezing cold and burning sunshine! I never thought of you, my dear old horse, only of how I loved her!"
The horse seemed to laugh at the notion of not remembering. Of course his master had done so.
"And you know how much she loved me! . . . How she stuck roses behind your ears, plaited your mane with ribbons, and fed you with sweet cakes from her own hand! . . . How often she drew me back with her kisses, even from the saddle, and hugged your neck that I might remain the longer!"
Vidám answered him with a low whinny. Certainly the girl had done all that.
"Till that confounded beggar slunk in and stole half her heart. If he had but stolen the whole of it! Taken her to himself and gone off with her! But to leave her here; half a heavenly blessing and half a deadly curse——"
The horse evidently wanted to comfort him, and laid his head on his master's knee.