It is nasty, dirty weather outside there on the _puszta_;[1] the sky is cloudy, the earth muddy, the rain has been falling for two weeks incessantly, as if by special command. There are inundations and submersions everywhere; rushes are growing instead of wheat, the stork is ploughing, the duck is fishing all over the precious sea-like expanse. "This judgment weather began on St. Medardus' Day, and will last now for forty days longer, but if it does last, I know not where we are to find the Noah to save man and beast from a partial deluge." [Footnote 1: For the meaning of this and all other Hungarian words used in the text, see the glossary at end of book.]…
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