about for awhile. He was on a flat wooden couch with woven coverings instead of the sheepskins of Maria’s hut. The room was tall, and light. There were windows of heavy oiled paper. One casement stood quite open, and he could see the hillside at a distance. There were shepherds going to work and Peter stirred uneasily. He ought to be at work, too. At his movements, someone else stirred. The coverings on another bed in the room were agitated, and a very large young man lifted his head to say, “I see you are awake. How do you find yourself, young one?”
“I’m all right,” said Peter, “but isn’t it time to go to work?”
“I think so,” said the youth with a mighty yawn. “But the mother said you were to lie still until she came. She feared you were sick.”
The youth arose, and dressed. Peter obediently lay still until Boerasa Helena came to him. She looked at his clear eyes, felt of his head for fever, and decided he might rise. However, she told him he should stay at home and rest that day. She gave him his clothes, cleaned and brushed, and when he came into the family room, she looked at him with approval. He did not look like the beggar lad who had stumbled into the house the night before.
That day while he had nothing else to do, Peter examined his new home with growing wonder. Fontanus was one of the many rich and prosperous peasants of Roumania. Moreover, his family boasted descent from the Romans, instead of the mixed stock that has at times
