Nothing occurred on the following day which requires any particular notice, nor indeed on the one succeeding that.  It was about noon on the third day that I sat beneath the shade of the ash tree; I was not at work, for the weather was particularly hot, and I felt but little inclination to make any exertion.  Leaning my back against the tree, I was not long in falling into a slumber; I particularly remember that slumber of mine beneath the ash tree, for it was about the sweetest slumber that I ever enjoyed; how long I continued in it I do not know; I could almost have wished that it had lasted to the present time.  All of a sudden it appeared to me that a voice cried in my ear, ’Danger! danger! danger!’ Nothing seemingly could be more distinct than the words which I heard; then an uneasy sensation came over me, which I strove to get rid of, and at last succeeded, for I awoke.  The gypsy girl was standing just opposite to me, with her eyes fixed upon my countenance; a singular kind of little dog stood beside her.

‘Ha!’ said I, ‘was it you that cried danger?  What danger is there?’

’Danger, brother, there is no danger; what danger should there be?  I called to my little dog, but that was in the wood; my little dog’s name is not danger, but Stranger; what danger should there be, brother?’

’What, indeed, except in sleeping beneath a tree; what is that you have got in your hand?’

‘Something for you,’ said the girl, sitting down and proceeding to untie a white napkin; ’a pretty manricli, so sweet, so nice; when I went home to my people I told my grandbebee how kind you had been to the poor person’s child, and when my grandbebee saw the kekaubi, she said, “Hir mi devlis, it won’t do for the poor people to be ungrateful; by my God, I will bake a cake for the young harko mescro."’

‘But there are two cakes.’

’Yes, brother, two cakes, both for you; my grandbebee meant them both for you—­but list, brother, I will have one of them for bringing them.  I know you will give me one, pretty brother, gray-haired brother—­which shall I have, brother?’

In the napkin were two round cakes, seemingly made of rich and costly compounds, and precisely similar in form, each weighing about half a pound.

‘Which shall I have, brother?’ said the gypsy girl.

‘Whichever you please.’

‘No, brother, no, the cakes are yours, not mine.  It is for you to say.’

‘Well, then, give me the one nearest you, and take the other.’

‘Yes, brother, yes,’ said the girl; and taking the cakes, she flung them into the air two or three times, catching them as they fell, and singing the while.  ‘Pretty brother, gray-haired brother—­here, brother,’ said she, ‘here is your cake, this other is mine.’

‘Are you sure,’ said I, taking the cake, ‘that this is the one I chose?’

’Quite sure, brother; but if you like you can have mine; there’s no difference, however—­shall I eat?’