Jonitza tried to forget that the time for leaving the country was approaching. The month had meant much to him. It had made a remarkable change in his appearance. His listless air had given way to a wide awake interested look, and his pale cheeks had already something of a ruddy hue.

Although for her own sake, Mrs. Popescu longed for a return home, she felt something like guilt in taking her son back with her. Every night she gave much thought to the subject and every night she knelt in prayer before the ikon that hung in her bedroom, asking that light be given her as to her duty. Finally, unable to decide, she wrote a long letter to her busy husband and begged his advice.

Instead of a written answer, her husband himself arrived. His solution of the difficulty startled her.

"Why shouldn't Jonitza accompany Nicolaia as a sheep herder into the Carpathians?"

"I'm afraid," she said, "there are gypsies there—and bad shepherds—and wild animals—and the life is too hard."

Her husband made light of all these things. "I've talked it over," he said, "with the Doctor. He declares that the only trouble with our boy is that we've molly-coddled him. He advised me to trust him to Nicolaia, whose family he knows. He says that Jonitza is just the age to enjoy the experience and that he will thank us all his life for it."

But at first Mrs. Popescu did not agree. "He has grown much heartier," she said. "Perhaps he would get along very well at home now."

So it was not settled until after the whole thing was talked over with the peasant and his wife and Mrs. Popescu was persuaded that her son would be in safe hands and that, besides, the dangers were less than in the city. Then Katinka was sent to call in the boys who were busy as usual with some outside work. They came in with a surprised air, but when all was explained to them both set up a shout that echoed from the darkened rafters of the room.

Mr. Popescu laughed with pleasure. "Can that be really my son?" he said.