nce at the
enticing fiddler, but hid themselves timidly behind the mothers, who
were standing with stern faces gazing at the groups of men waiting
anxiously on the other side of the square.

The stillness and universal silence began at last to make the boys
uneasy. They had tried in vain to engage the men in conversation. They
received no answer to their questions, and when they turned to the women
and the maidens, they also remained dumb. The returned soldiers then
went to the other side of the square to talk to the fiddler and the
children; but when they began to fondle and play with the little ones,
they were called by their fathers and mothers and bade to remain at
their side.

The boys gazed questioningly at one another.

"I am curious to know what this means; are we to remain standing here
all night?" muttered one of them.

"It appears to me that they are waiting for some one," murmured another.

"They are expecting my father," said Charles Henry; "and see, there he
comes from the churchyard. The justice went for him."

When the old man arrived at the square the men advanced to meet him,
conducted him gravely to the bench under the great linden, and assisted
him to stand upon it. There he towered above them, and his pale,
venerable face, his silver hairs were visible to all. Every eye was
directed to him, and breathless silence ensued. The old man raised his
arm and pointed toward the side where the twelve boys stood.

"Come to me, Charles Henry Buschman," he said, solemnly; and as his son
advanced rapidly to him, he continued: "I ask you in the name of God, if
what you told me yesterday is true? Have you secretly left the flag of
your king, our sovereign--the great King Frederick of Prussia? Is it
true that you have forsaken your regiment and the flag to which you
swore to be faithful?"

"It is true," said Charles Henry, with assumed daring, "but we were
not only justified in doing so--our duty compelled us. We are no longer
Prussian subjects, but subjects of the King of France. You all heard
to-day what the minister read to us in church--how the archbishop
commanded us to be faithful to our new sovereign. We could no longer
wear the Prussian uniform or be Prussian soldiers, therefore we returned
to our village."

"You returned as dishonored, faithless soldiers!" cried the old man,
looking angrily at his son--"you returned covered with shame--miserable
deserters--to the disgrace of your fathers, mother