the village, which was only able to
maintain itself through the political disagreements of the villagers,
and drank success to their party in the ultimate result of the election
throughout the whole constituency. The peasants in the bar of the big
inn were not less hopeful; they comforted themselves by declaring
that the result in such a small place was of no real consequence.
Nevertheless, it was a disgrace to think that there were now in the
village more red revolutionists than loyal subjects.

The morning of August the 10th dawned bright and glorious; the day on
which Plettau, after so many long years, came once more under the
jurisdiction of civil law. It was one of those mornings when it is a
joy to be a soldier; when every wearer of the uniform feels heartily
thankful that his day's work is to be done out in God's free open world
of nature, and not behind a desk or in some overheated factory.

The inspection of the battery was fixed for half-past seven. Lieutenant
Brettschneider had had his men out since six, and had already robbed
them of their last remnants of good temper. Here he had discovered a
helmet the polish of which was not bright enough to please him, there a
coat the sleeves of which were too long; or he had waxed wroth over
some head of hair that he considered insufficiently cropped. And all
this, while "stand at attention" was the order; so that the men got
cramp in their legs, and sneezing fits from staring the whole time in
the face of the morning sun.

At last the battery was drawn up on the parade-ground, and
Senior-lieutenant Brettschneider was ready to do himself credit. The
colonel was seen slowly approaching, accompanied by Major Schrader on
one side, and by Captain von Wegstetten on the other. Brettschneider
hastened towards them to report that the battery was in position.

The colonel received his announcement graciously. "Let the men stand at
ease," he commanded. And when Brettschneider had called out the order,
he returned to his place to begin the parade.

Then occurred something very startling.

A shout was heard: "Holdrio, hoho!" And then again:
"Holdrio--yoho-hoho o!" And again a third time:
"Holdrio--yoho--yoho--hoho--o--o!"

The yodel was evidently sounding from the slope of the opposite hill.
Every one looked that way; and, behold, on the hillside appeared the
figure of Count Egon Plettau, still dressed as for his discharge, in
the grey drill trousers and much-patched co