hould have
to say the same if they asked me again."

Then the turnpike-keeper opened his mouth for the first time since he
had entered the room.

"You were _right_!" he said, so loudly and emphatically that the
inspector at the window started and gave a warning cough.

Now that he had seen his son again, this brave honest lad, a change
seemed to have come over the old man. The boy had been a willing
dutiful soldier, everybody said so, and yet they were going to shut
him up in prison for five long months, all because of a piece of
fiddle-faddle! Devil take them all! What was the use of being a good
soldier? And at a stroke every trace disappeared of the obedient and
respectful old sergeant who had worn the uniform so proudly; he was
peasant pure and simple, hard-headed and stiff-necked, a peasant who
would stand up for what he thought right and defend it through thick
and thin.

"You are _right_" he said, "and you were right all along."

But the son was more discriminating than the father, even though the
punishment affected himself.

"You are not in earnest, father," he remonstrated; "I know I was in
fault. But the punishment is too hard, even so; and I can appeal."

The turnpike-keeper laughed softly.

"Yes, you can be a fool," he said, "and get yourself into a worse mess!
No, boy, if you take my advice you will leave appealing alone. If they
have been unjust to you then you must put up with the injustice
proudly, it won't last for ever! but never beg for justice!"

Franz Vogt looked disappointed. He had hoped that the higher courts
might mitigate his sentence, but his father's advice must be best.

The inspector turned round from the window. The visitor's time was up.

Once more the son regarded with loving pride the venerable appearance
of his father.

"Why, you have put on all your medals, father!" he said, smiling a
little.

"Yes," replied the turnpike-keeper. "I put on all my medals when I came
to see you." And, in a loud voice, that the inspector might hear, he
repeated: "I put them on for you, my dear good boy, and for you only."
And for the first time in his life he embraced his son, took the boy's
head between his hands, and kissed him on the forehead. Franz Vogt felt
the trembling of the old man's lips, and choked back his own tears. As
the warder was taking him back down the long passage he looked round
once more. His father was just going out of the door, and a ray of
sunlight fell on the v