The csikós swinging the loaded end of his cudgel, struck a yellow mullein standing in his path, scattering the blossoms far and wide.
"What harm has the poor 'King's candle' done you?" asked the boy.
But the intent of the blow had been in another direction.
"And now what will happen?" questioned the csikós.
"Well, yesterday, the Moravian drovers turned up on foot, and they discussed the matter with the overseer. So now the cows are to be driven towards Tisza-Füred, and all their calves with them, for over the bridge they surely can't jump! They say the cows ran back to their calves. But Ferko Lacza only laughs to himself."
"And will Ferko Lacza go with them this time?"
"Apparently, since the master never gives him a moment's peace. But the cowboy doesn't want to clear out just yet. He says the cattle must have a day or two breathing time after their race, and he himself sleeps the whole day like a log. Well, 'tis no joke to gallop from Polgár to Zám puszta at one stretch! So the overseer has granted him two days' rest."
"Two days? Two? Surely that is over much."
"I don't know."
"But I do—or else the two days will lengthen into a rest much longer!"