"If only the inn were not so near, If only I did not find such cheer In golden quart and copper gill, I would not linger, my love, until It ever should grow so late."
But soon his head fell forward again, and he went on nodding, till all at once, with a frightened start, he saw that the yellow rose was gone!
Turning his horse he commenced searching for the flower amid that sea of grass, and the yellow blossoms of cinquefoil, and stitchwort, and water-lilies. At last he found it, stuck it in his hat, and continued his song:
"An apple-tree stands in my garden small, The blossoms it bears they hide it all. Oh there where the full carnation blows, And a maiden's heart with a true love glows Is the place where I would be."
And then he went to sleep again, lost the rose, and once more turned to look for it. When found this time, nestling among a cluster of pink thistle-heads, he nearly kicked the plant to pieces. Because--because it had dared to kiss his rose! Then he sprang back to the saddle. Now had this cowboy been superstitious he would not have decorated his hat for the third time with the yellow rose. Had he understood bird language, he would have known what the hundreds of little larks were twittering as they rose up out of sight, to greet the dawn. "Wear not--wear not your yellow rose!" But this Hortobágy peasant was hard-headed; he knew neither fear nor superstition.
He had wasted a good deal of time, however, in seeking this rose--though possibly more in winning it--for at the watering-hour he should have reached the Zám herd. By this time the overseer must be cursing him roundly. Well, let him curse! When one has a yellow rose in one's cap one is not afraid of an overseer!
The sudden neighing of his horse roused him. A horseman was approaching, whose steed, a bay with a white star, was evidently an old friend of its own. The rider was a "csikós," or horseherd, as could be seen by his wide flying sleeves, white cloak, tulip embroidered, the lasso thrown around his shoulders, and best of all, by the way he had saddled his bay--without a girth. The two herdsmen recognised one another, as well as their horses, and quickening their trot drew close together. Both men, though distinctly different, were of the true Hungarian type, such as were the first Hungarians who wandered in from Asia. The cowherd was broad-shouldered, thickset, and bony, his face roundish and his cheeks red, while there was something of impudence in the chin, mouth, eyebrows, and little waxed moustache. His chestnut hair was cropped short, and his eyes hazel, though at first sight seeming almost green.