United States or Gabon ? Vote for the TOP Country of the Week !
Sure twenty-five is more than any of your people ever paid to us for a wife. It would shame my ancestors were I to offer more for a gipsy girl than they ever received for one of our women." "She is not for sale," roared the gipsy at the top of his voice. By that time the Tartar knew that Marcu was not armed.
When all the bags were loaded on the sleigh Marcu threw the heavy purse Mehmet had given him to the Tartar's feet and grabbed the arm of his Fanutza. "Here is your money, Mehmet. I take my daughter." But before he knew what had happened, Fanutza shook off his grip and picking up the purse she threw it at her father, saying: "Take it. Give it to Stan that he should buy with the gold another woman.
Shake hands. Here. Now here is one oar. Pull as I count, Bir, icki, outch, dort. Again, Bir, icki, outch, dort. Lift your oar. Pull again. Two counts only. Bir, icki. So, now we row nearer to the shore. See that light there? Row towards it. Good. Marcu, your arm is still strong and steady and you can drive a good bargain."
Quick as a flash Fanutza changed the encouraging glance she had thrown to the passionate man to a pleading look towards her father. "Poor, poor girl!" thought Marcu. "How she fears to lose me! How she fears I might accept the money and sell her to the Tartar!"
"A hundred gold pieces to row us across," he yelled, for the night was closing in upon them and the boat was being carried swiftly downstream. There was danger ahead of them. Marcu knew it. "A hundred gold pieces is a great sum," mused Mehmet, "a great sum!
Fanutza's eyes met the eyes of her father. She looked at him entreatingly, "Don't give in to the Tartar," her eyes spoke clearly, and Marcu refused the offer. "I offer you fifty instead that you buy yourself another woman than my daughter." "No," answered the Tartar, "but I offer sixty for this one, here."
"All, save the ones with blood of Chans in their veins," said Mehmet Ali who had put himself between the girl and the whole of her tribe. And the Tartar's words served as a reminder to Marcu that Fanutza's own mother had been the daughter of a Tartar chief and a white woman. By MAXWELL STRUTHERS BURT
After the horses had been fed and watered, Marcu, accompanied by his daughter, Fanutza, left the camp and went riverward, in search of the hut of the Tartar whose flat-bottomed boat was moored on the shore. Marcu knew every inch of the ground. He had camped there with his tribe twenty winters in succession. He sometimes arrived before, and at other times after, the first snow of the year.
He had always come alone to Mehmet's hut, therefore, the Tartar, after greeting Marcu and offering to do what his friend desired, inquired why the girl was beside the old chief. "But this is my daughter, Fanutza, Mehmet Ali," Marcu informed. "Who, Fanutza? She who was born here fourteen winters ago on the plains here?"
I have selected the same silk basma for her. Have you not promised me, even this morning ?" "A woman must learn to keep her mouth shut," shouted Marcu as he angrily stamped his right foot on the floor. He looked at his daughter as he had never looked at her before. Only a few hours ago she was his little girl, a child!
Word Of The Day