As a result, in the late afternoon a dray load of beer kegs appeared at Paulina’s back door, to the unspeakable relief of Jacob and of his guests as well, who had begun to share his anxiety and to look forward to an evening of drouth and gloom.

As for Simon Ketzel, he found himself at once upon the very crest of a wave of popularity, for through the driver of the dray it became known that it was Simon that had come so splendidly to the rescue.

Relieved of anxiety, the revellers gave themselves with fresh and reckless zest to the duty of assuring beyond all shadow of doubt, the good health of the bride and the groom, and of every one in general in flowing mugs of beer.  Throughout the afternoon, men and women, and even boys and girls, ate and drank, danced and sang to the limit of their ability.

As the evening darkened, and while this carouse was at its height, Paulina, with a shawl over her head, slipped out of the house and through the crowd, and so on to the outskirts of the colony, where she found her husband impatiently waiting her.

“You are late,” he said harshly.

“I could not find Kalman.”

“Kalman!  My boy!  And where would he be?” exclaimed her husband with a shade of anxiety in his voice.

“He was with me in the house.  I could not keep him from the men, and they will give him beer.”

“Beer to that child?” snarled her husband.

“Yes, they make him sing and dance, and they give him beer.  He is wonderful,” said Paulina.

Even as she spoke, a boy’s voice rose clear and full in a Hungarian love song, to the wild accompaniment of the cymbal.

“Hush!” said the man holding up his hand.

At the first sound of that high, clear voice, the bacchanalian shoutings and roarings fell silent, and the wild weird song, throbbing with passion, rose and fell upon the still evening air.  After each verse, the whole chorus of deep, harsh voices swelled high over the wailing violins and Arnud’s clanging cymbal.

“Good,” muttered the man when the song had ceased.  “Now get him.”

“I shall bring him to yonder house,” said Paulina, pointing to the dwelling of Mrs. Fitzpatrick, whither in a few minutes she was seen half dragging, half carrying a boy of eight, who kept kicking and scratching vigorously, and pouring forth a torrent of English oaths.

“Hush, Kalman,” said Paulina in Galician, vainly trying to quiet the child.  “The gentleman will be ashamed of you.”

“I do not care for any gentleman,” screamed Kalman.  “He is a black devil,” glancing at the black bearded man who stood waiting them at the door of the Fitzpatrick dwelling.

“Hush, hush, you bad boy!” exclaimed Paulina, horrified, laying her hand over the boy’s mouth.

The man turned his back upon them, pulled off his black beard, thrust it into his pocket, gave his mustaches a quick turn and faced about upon them.  This transformation froze the boy’s fury into silence.  He shrank back to his mother’s side.