is companion in
quite a loud voice, "What do you think of your beggarly Prussians now?
This is their work--to kill the son of a poor widow. If he had been a
prince, they would have gone into mourning, and for seven weeks would
have eaten out of black bowls and with black spoons!"

It went hard with me to enter the widow's cottage, after hearing those
words. The old woman, who had always been so quiet and contented, and
who had never left her dwelling, unless it was to go earn her daily
bread, was now quite urgent in her demands. She asked for money, so
that she might go and witness the burial of her son, and know where
they laid his body. She also wanted to go to the Prince, for whom her
son had lost his life. She knew that she, a poor woman, had a better
right to a good pension than the Captain's widow, who was a great lady.

When my wife came, the old woman said, "You are better off than I am.
Your son still lives, but mine is dead. They told me that you once said
your son was more than dead. But, tell me, what does it mean to be more
than dead? Ah, you do not know. The Prussian sought out the best heart
of them all. He knew what he was about. Of all the thousands who say
'mother,' there was no better child than my Carl. Your Ernst is also a
good lad. They were born on the same day. Don't you remember? My
husband was quite tipsy when he came home that evening. He was
gloriously full, and so jolly! He must have known that he was soon to
be the father of such a splendid boy.

"Oh, my poor Carl! You may hunt the land through, but you will never
find so handsome a lad as my Carl. He did not get his good looks from
me; but his father was just as good-looking as he--nay, almost more so.

"Ah, it will be a long while before you find so pretty a fellow as
Carl--one who will sit down beside his mother of a Sunday afternoon and
tell her merry jokes, so that her heart may be gladdened, although his
own be sad.

"Yes, go and seek another such as he!

"Don't go away, Waldfried! There is no one left with whom I can talk.
Or send Martella--to me she will do."

On our way home, my wife gently said, "His regiment was not once in
battle."

This was the first intimation I had received of her careful reading of
the newspapers. Ernst's regiment had not fired a single shot, and all
our suffering had been to no purpose.

We sent Martella over to the spinner's cottage, where she remained all
night.

On the following morning, Mar