He was a man whose judgment was respected, and when first suspicion fell upon the Kunok, he was besieged by those who wanted his advice as to how they ought to act in these dangerous circumstances. Now, on the days when Barkó got out of bed right foot foremost, he would calm his inquirers by saying wisely enough that until Kuthen himself was detected in some suspicious act, the time had not come for accusing him. But, unfortunately, Barkó was not without his domestic troubles in the shape of a wife, who would always have the last word, and so sometimes it happened that he got up left foot foremost. It was on one of these unlucky days that the people of Pest and the neighbourhood, having somehow heard, as people always do hear, that the King was holding a Council for the purpose of taking measures of defence against the Mongols, "Tartars," as they called them, came with one consent to Barkó's house, and swarmed into it in such numbers that he leapt out of the window to escape them. But no sooner had his feet touched the ground than they were at once taken off it again, and he was caught up and raised on high, amid loud shouts from the crowd that he must be their leader and spokesman. "What am I to do? What do you want?" he cried. "Let's go to the King! Treachery! The Kunok are bringing the Tartars upon us! We want the head of Kuthen!" Such were the cries which assailed him on all sides, and Barkó let them shout till they were tired. "Very well, children," he said, as soon as there was a chance of making himself heard. "Very well, we will go to his Majesty. He will listen to his faithful people and find some way of putting an end to the mischief." "We will go now!" they shouted. "No! let's wait!" roared a grey-beard, with a shake of his shaggy head, using his broad shoulders and sharp elbows to force a way through the crowd. "We won't go to the King! We'll go straight to the other King, the vagabond and traitor Kuthen. We will take his treacherous head to our own good King!" "Good! good!" cried the mob. "It is not good!" shouted Barkó. "It is for the King to command, it is for us to ask. If I am to be your leader, trust the matter to me." "Let us trust it to Mr. Barkó," cried some voices again. "So then, I am the leader, and if we want to go before the King's Majesty, let us do it respectfully, not as if we were a rabble going to a tavern. Here! make room for me! put me down!" And Barkó puffed and panted, and shook himself, as if he had swum across the Danube. Then he called three or four of the crowd to him to help in forming up some sort of procession. "There! I go in the middle, as the leader, and you, the army, will march in two files after me." "But we are here, too, Mr. Barkó!" cried some shriller voices. "The petticoats will bring up the rear!" said Mr. Barkó authoritatively.