nd had it not been for this nothing would have saved him from
receiving another murderous thrashing. But now all turned silently
away from him, no one ever spoke another word to him; he made himself a
social outcast."

The top of the table resounded as the old colonel struck it with his
fist.

"How long the others kept him in Coventry," said he, "I know not. I sat
in class with him for a whole year longer and spoke never a single word
more to him. We entered the army at the same time as ensigns; I did
not give him my hand at parting; do not know whether he has become an
officer; have never looked for his name in the army register; don't know
whether he has fallen in one of the wars, whether he still lives or is
dead--for me he was no more, is no more--the only thing I regret is that
the person ever came into my life at all and that I can not root out the
remembrance of him forever, like a weed one flings into the oven!

"The next morning came bad news from the infirmary: Little L was lying
unconscious in a burning, nervous fever. In the afternoon his older
brother was called in, but the little fellow no longer recognized him.

"And in the evening, as we all sat at supper in the big common
dining-hall, a rumor came--like a great black bird with muffled beat of
wings it passed through the hall--that Little L was dead.

"As we came back from the dining-hall into company quarters, our captain
was standing at the door of the company hall; we were made to go in, and
there the captain announced to us that our little comrade, L No. II, had
fallen asleep that night, never to wake again.

"The captain was a very good man--he fell in 1866, a brave hero--he
loved his cadets, and as he gave us the news, he had to wipe the tears
from his beard. Then he ordered us all to fold our hands; one of us had
to step forward and before all say 'Our Father' out loud--"

The colonel bowed his head.

"Then for the first time," said he, "I felt how really beautiful is the
Lord's Prayer.

"And so, the next afternoon, the door that led from the infirmary to the
outdoor gymnasium opened, the hateful, ominous door.

"We were made to step down into the court of the infirmary; we were to
see once more our dead comrade.

"Our steps shuffled with a dull and heavy sound as we were marched over
there; no one spoke a word; one heard only a heavy breathing.

"And there lay little L, poor little L!

"In his white little shirt he lay there, his h