For him the day's work had no weariness.

He no longer trod the solid ground, but through paths of airy bliss his soul marched to the strains of celestial music.
Poor Kalman! When on that fateful morning upon his virgin soul there dawned the vision of the maid, the hour of fate struck for him.

That most ancient and most divine of frenzies smote him.
He was deliciously, madly in love, though he knew it not.

It is something to his credit, however, that he allowed the maiden to depart without giving visible token of this divine frenzy raging within his breast, unless it were that in the blue of his eyes there came a deeper blue, and that under the tan of his cheek a pallor crept.

But when on their going the girl suddenly turned in her saddle and, waving her hand, cried, "Good-by, Kalman," the pallor fled, chased from his cheek by a hot rush of Slavic blood as he turned to answer, "Good-by." He held his hat high in a farewell salutation, as he had seen Jack do, and then in another moment she was gone, and with her all the glory of that golden autumn day.
To Kalman it seemed as if months or years must have passed since he first saw her by her Aunt's tent on that eventful morning.