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"All right, foolish daddy," interrupted Sárvölgyi. "A truce to your blessings. Get you gone. Mistress Borcsa will give you a glass of wine as a reward." But the gypsy would not yield: he hobbled after the master into his bedroom, opening the door vigorously, and thrusting in his shaggy head. "But if God call from the world of shadows..." "Go to hell: enough of your gratitude."
The gypsy woman did not wait to be told a second time: but, at once taking a basket off her arms, squatted down and began to shake the basket, uttering some such enticing words as "Pocza, poczo, net, net!" Nor was Mistress Borcsa idle: as soon as she remarked this device, she commenced the counteracting spell. "Shoo!
Mistress Borcsa burst into tears. She always had her pet animals, after the fashion of old servants, who, being on good terms with nobody in the world, tame some hen or other animal set aside for eating purposes, and defend its life cleverly and craftily; not allowing it to be killed; until finally the merciless master passes the sentence that the favorite too must be killed. How they weep then!
The poor, old maid-servants cannot touch a morsel of it. "Stop whining, Borcsa!" roared Sárvölgyi, frowning. "You will do what I order. The pig must be caught and given to Marcsa." The pig, unsuspicious of danger, was wandering about in the courtyard. "Well, I shall not catch it," whimpered Mistress Boris. "Marcsa'll do that."
Sárvölgyi, enraged, ran to his room to fetch a stick, but before he came out with it, Mistress Borcsa was already wheeling her vehicle far away on the other side of the street, and it would not have been fitting for a gentleman to scamper after her before the eyes of the whole village, and to commence a combat of doubtful issue in the middle of the street with the irritated Amazon.
She came out again as soon as the squeals of her protêgé had ceased, and with uncontrollable fury took up a position before Sárvölgyi. The gypsy woman smilingly pointed to the murdered innocent. Mistress Borcsa then said in a panting rage to Sárvölgyi: "Miser who gives one day, and takes back a curse upon such as you!" "Zounds! good-for-nothing!" bawled the righteous fellow.
Mistress Borcsa screamed, Marcsa grunted, and the pig squealed loudest of all. "Kill it at once to stop its cries!" cried Sárvölgyi. "What a horrible noise over a pig!" "Don't kill it! Don't make it squeal while I am listening," exclaimed Borcsa in a terrified passion: then she ran back into the kitchen, and stopped her ears lest she should hear them killing her favorite pig.
The damned gypsy girl, her spells make her cakes always rise beautifully, while mine wither away in the boiling fat although they are made of the same flour, and the same yeast." It would not have been good for any one of the domestics to show herself within sight of Mistress Borcsa at that moment.
"I don't want your money," she said, wheeling her barrow further. "What you wish to keep back from my salary may remain for the master's coffin-nails." "What, you cursed witch!" exclaimed Sárvölgyi. "What did you dare to say to me?" Mistress Borcsa was already outside the gate. She thrust her head in again, and said: "I made a mistake.
My husband lives in the neighboring village: I left him in his young days because he beat me twice a day; now I shall go back to the honest fellow, even if he beat me thrice a day." Mistress Borcsa was in reality not jesting, and to prove it she at once gathered up her bed, brought out her trunks, piled all her possessions onto a barrow, and wheeled them out without saying so much as "good bye."
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