Behind these was to be seen a plantation of fine walnuts, with widespread shady heads and thick trunks, whose bark was smooth as silk. "Look," said Noémi, "those are my mother's pride; they are fifteen years old—just a year younger than I am," she said quite simply.
On the right was the marsh, as Timar well remembered when he first came to the island and made his way through it. Now it was covered with water-plants; yellow lilies and white bell flowers were spread over the surface of the morass, and in the midst stood quietly two storks.
Timar opened the little gate; it was a pleasant reminder to see this wilderness once more, and yet it seemed to him as if his guide was afraid and uncomfortable.
"Are you still all alone here?" asked Michael.
"We are alone. At market-times people come to barter with us, and in winter wood-cutters come and help us to hew the trees and root them up: the wood serves to pay them. We do the rest ourselves."
"But fruit-gathering is very troublesome, especially on account of the wasps."
"Oh, that is not hard work; our friends singing there on the trees help us with the wasp-killing. Do you see all the nests? Our laborers live there; here no one troubles them, and they do us good service. Just listen!"
The wilderness resounded indeed with a heavenly concert. In the evening every bird hastens home, and then they are at their best. The cuckoo, the clock of the woods, has enough to do in striking the hours, and the thrush whistles in Greek strophes.
Then suddenly Noémi screamed aloud, grew pale, and started back with her trembling hand on her heart, so that Timar felt it his duty to seize her by the hand that she might not fall. "What is it?" Noémi held her hand before her eyes and said, half laughing and half crying, in a tone of mingled fear and disgust, "Look, look! there he comes."
"Who?"