"He was always a famous singer." "Yes, one he made in jail, and a splendid song it was too, I can tell you.

Bandi! pipe it to his lordship on your _tilinka_ as I have taught you." At these words one of the youths drew forth from his sleeve one of those flutes made of elder-wood, which in Hungarian goes by the name of a _tilinka_, and which with its poor six holes is able to give forth as many variations as the throat of a lark; then, without any virtuoso airs he simply piped the plaintive melody.
The baron was immensely pleased.

"Margari," cried he, "go to the carriage, look for my fiddle and bring it hither!" At this command poor Margari had a veritable ague fit of terror.

All this time he had remained ducking down in the carriage firmly persuaded that the robbers in this lonely place would cut down every mother's son of them at nightfall.

In such a case he was prepared to swear that he had never belonged to the party at all, but would pretend he was only a poor tramp, and so escape that way.