“You are right; don’t you believe it.  Bacha Filina told me that she went away because your father’s family did not like her because she was not of noble birth as themselves.  But she went to the theatre only because she could not make her living otherwise.  Your father brought her from a very great distance to which she could not return.  What could she do?  What the theatre is, I do not know.  Only that she sang there beautifully.  Perhaps that would not have been so bad if she had known the Lord Jesus as we know Him.  He would surely have advised and helped her otherwise, and if that which she did was wrong, when she once knows Jesus and asks Him to forgive her, He will do so.  But we must tell her about Him, you and I.”

“We?  But she is far away, very far.”

“Do not believe it, Ondrejko.  The Lord Jesus sent her back as far as here.  The lady at our cottage—­that is she.”

“You say that is she?” Ondrejko jumped up.

“Yes, yes; that is she.”

“She was just like her, and had the same kind of a voice!  And so it aroused in my heart remembrances of long ago when she spoke and when I looked at her.  It seems to me I recognized her, but she didn’t know me,” sadly sighed the boy, and his eyes filled with tears.

“But how could she have recognized you in those farmer’s clothes?  We too, Petrik and I, hardly recognized you.”

“Do you think so?” Ondrejko calmed down.  “Palko, take me to her; she doesn’t know that I am her Andreas.  She doesn’t know me.”

“She knows already.  Uncle Filina was there.  He told her the truth.”

“Oh, then take me with you, because I have made her very sad—­till she almost died.”

“I don’t care.  Come, then.  Surely the Lord Jesus wants it so.”

* * * * *

No matter how long Ondrejko Gemersky lives he will never be able to forget how it was when the doors in the cottage opened and a beautiful lady in a light blue dress, the color of forget-me-nots, stepped out.  In her hands she carried a broad hat, but she dropped it with a cry, “My Ondrejko!” as she ran toward them.  He flew like an arrow to meet her.

“Mother, my mother!”—­and already held her around the neck.  She, kneeling, hugged him to her breast.  They both cried, and Palko with them.

“Oh, mother, my mother, how I love you!  Verily I am yours, and surely you will keep me now,” begged Ondrejko with tears.  He stroked the beautiful face and forehead of the lady.

“Yes, you are mine.”  She jumped up.  “I will not give you up any more to anyone, anyone in the world.  But no, come, my son, we have to go to Bacha Filina.  He will take care of it, that no one can take you away from me.”

Surely Ondrejko will never forget this, nor how they walked together to the sheepcote, how well they were received there, what a good time they had that afternoon and evening, because Ondrejko’s mother slept together with Aunty Moravec in his hut.  Bacha counted on that.  He took counsel with Aunty and sent Stephen to the cottage to bring whatever was necessary for the lady, especially sheets, covers, etc.  Thus Ondrejko sat beside his mother in the evening when Joe roasted the lamb over the fire, and Petrik helped Aunty to cook soup in the pot.