CHAPTER VIII.

THE SCHUTZEN FEST.

ROBERT could not shake off the impression which Hans had produced upon him, and he did not awake in a very good humour with himself next morning. When he met Paul, he entered at once upon the subject which engrossed his thoughts, and ended by saying: "I've almost made up my mind not to shoot. I feel as if I were a great rascal to stand up before the people of Kösen and carry away the prize, knowing what I do."

Paul was very angry. "I tell you what it is, Robert," he replied, "I've had enough of this sort of thing. If you don't shoot, I declare I'll go to Hans and tell him you pushed the squib into his hand because you didn't want him to shoot against you."

"You dare not, Paul. But if you were to be so wicked, it would be easy for me to tell the truth about you."

"One against the other, my boy. My word is as good as yours; we are known as close friends in Kösen. But now, Robert, don't be stupid; I shall be all right if you will just shoot for the prize, and win it, and that will make an end of the matter. And to show you that I am sorry I have vexed you, I promise I will never tease Hans again. Don't let us fall out; we are old chums, and Kösen boys, and it wouldn't sound well if we were to give evidence against one another; nor would your parents, or even mine, care to have this affair made a matter of talk in the town."

Robert was afraid to refuse Paul's terms; and so he tried to forget that Hans had been ill-used, nor did he call on him again before the Schutzen Fest. Paul felt secretly thankful he had constrained his friend to keep silence; for, bad as he was, he did not relish the affair being sifted, so certain was he that if the truth were made public, even he would feel uncomfortable and cowed by the black looks which he knew his companions and acquaintances would cast upon him. His fear was for himself; he was not ashamed of his sin.

The market-place in Kösen consists of a clump of green trees which stand in the high street, and this was the meeting-place of those who competed for the Burgomaster's prize.

Kösen put on its gayest appearance for the fête; the day was exquisite, the sky blue, and the air still; flags were flying in all directions, and parents and children appeared in their holiday attire.

The shooting began at four o'clock. Long before that hour, there was quite a crowd in the market-place waiting for the band to come and strike up the national air, which was a signal for the twenty boys who competed for the prize to form themselves into a double column. Each of the boys carried his own bow and arrows and wore a scarlet cap wreathed with oak-leaves.

The marker led the way, dressed in a scarlet tunic, white trousers, and a cap with a plume of many colours; the band came next, then banners carried by boys, and lastly the twenty competitors for the prize. In this order they proceeded to the Burgomaster's house. He was awaiting their arrival arrayed in his robes of office; and now he took the lead, and marched away in the direction of the bridge. Instead of crossing it, the procession turned off to the right, passed the mill, and onwards until it reached the Katze—a pretty, elevated spot covered with green trees, with the Saale running a few feet below. Here many chairs and tables were ranged; and there were temporary tents erected where refreshments could be had, for most of the company remained to supper after the shooting was over.

Every one of the twenty competitors shot twelve arrows, and if the bull's-eye were hit, the marker signified the fact by dancing in front of the target, flag in hand, while at the same moment a gun fired.

Robert was quite himself; the excitement of the scene made him forget everything but his own enjoyment and importance. He did not meet Hans on the way, so he had nothing to damp his pleasure.

Paul was as close to his friend as the rules permitted, for only those who competed for the prize were allowed to enter the ring.

The boys shot better than on the previous year, but Robert shot the best, and so to him the prize was awarded. He had to come before the Burgomaster, who complimented him on his skill, and crowned him with a wreath of laurel-leaves. Afterwards, he presented a drinking-cup to him mounted in silver.

[Illustration: ROBERT WINS THE PRIZE.]

When this ceremony was concluded, the Burgomaster returned home, and Robert became the hero of the evening. At ten o'clock the band left the orchestra in order to conduct him home, and a large concourse of young friends and acquaintances accompanied him, lighting the way with their many coloured lanterns, and shouting, "Hoch, Hoch" (Hurrah).

The music ceased when the mill was reached, and amid renewed shouts Robert entered his father's house, and the rest of his friends dispersed to their several homes, save Paul, for Robert could not spare him. He wanted to chat over the events of the day with his friend, and to express his surprise at not seeing Hans Richter.

But even Paul bade him "Good night" as soon as he found there was company in the kitchen, for he did not care to face kind Pastor Hahn who was chatting with the miller and his wife. When he caught sight of him through the open door, he whispered to Robert: "Good night, old fellow. I shall slip off, for I don't care to have a lecture from the minister to-night. Come to me in the morning."

"All hail to the conqueror!" exclaimed the pastor, as Robert entered the kitchen.

"You shot well, my boy," said his father, "better than usual, I thought."

"And you had an easy victory," added Pastor Hahn; "you had no competitor. I think you would have found your match if Hans Richter had been able to try his skill. Poor fellow! I have been so sorry for him; he set his heart on shooting for the prize. At the same time, I must say I never saw a lad take his disappointment so well. Ah, Robert, would that you had the same strong principle to guide you, that Hans has. It is such a mystery how that lad met with his accident. I confess from his account it seems to me as if some one had thrust the squib into his hand out of sheer mischief, or even revenge, and—"

"Hold up your cup, Robert," called out the miller; "you will drop your prize. My boy, you are tired out, you look deadly pale. Now your colour is returning: I thought you were going to faint. Get your supper, and go to bed at once."

"I've had enough to eat, thank you, father," answered Robert, "but I will go to bed, for I am very tired, so good night all. Good night, Pastor Hahn."

"Good night," said the pastor, taking the hand Robert stretched out to him, and holding it in his own. "You have won an earthly prize to-day; how I wish you would be as eager in striving to win a heavenly prize. God has given us many prizes, but the greatest and best is His Son, and I fear you despise this prize. The day will come when your Father in heaven will ask why you have neglected your Saviour; what answer will you give then?"

"The lad is too tired to think to-night, good pastor," said the miller; "don't damp his pleasure by a long sermon."

"It seems to me as if it were never the right moment to speak to you of those things which make for our everlasting salvation," answered the pastor, sadly: for he was rarely permitted to enlarge on the theme he loved so well within those walls. And yet he did not cease his visits, hoping that the seed he dropped from time to time would, by the Spirit's blessing, bear fruit at last.

Robert went to bed, but not to sleep. Now that the excitement was over, and Paul away from him, he began to be uncomfortable again. He would willingly have relinquished his prize if he could have undone the cruel injury which Paul had inflicted on Hans. He tossed about his bed, wondering why he could not sleep, for he never remembered lying awake for five minutes before. But turn as he might, he got no real rest, for if he fell asleep, he dreamed of terrible things and was thankful to awake and find them unreal. He was very glad to see morning dawn, and watch the sun rise, for he did not feel quite so miserable as during the long hours of the night.

Hans was not present at the Schutzen Fest, for a very good reason. He and his master had fully determined to go, but at the last moment several rafts came along, and the men were anxious to pay duty on their wood and start forward at once. As soon as they had been attended to, another delay came: a friend from Naumburg called to see Karl; so, as his master was engaged, Hans went quietly upstairs to chat with Frau Schmidt.

"Not gone!" she said, when he entered her room. "Surely, dear boy, you are not smarting so much under your disappointment that you cannot see another win!"

"No, dear frau, but we've been so busy, and now my master's engaged, and I feel very tired. There is really no other reason why I do not go. I could see Robert win, and not be one bit jealous of him. I have had a battle to fight, nevertheless," he added, smiling, "so don't think me better than I am. It's sticking to the Raft, dear frau, that enabled me to think quietly of Robert's currying off a prize that might have been mine. I seem to understand better since this struggle has passed away how easily those who have no Raft to cling to may commit any sin to gain their ends."

"You are quite right, Hans; had you encouraged the feeling of jealousy, it might have grown so fast that it would have mastered you at last. Christ's new commandment carried out into daily life is the best cure for the indulgence of sin."

"There is an old man coming to the fest to-day," Hans said, after a pause, "in whom I am much interested; he is such a fine, manly Christian, and yet so poor. I cannot forget my talk with him, though I have never told you about it." And Hans gave Frau Schmidt an account of his conversation with the old man who sold sausages, adding, "I must try and find him out to-morrow; he told me he intended to spend a few days at Kösen."

"There is a sort of freemasonry between Christians," answered Frau Schmidt. "I hope you may find him; I should like to see him if I am tolerably well."

Hans little thought when he spoke about the old man how much he was engrossing the thoughts of the latter. Among the spectators who watched the shooting was Franz Nieper, the seller of sausages. He arranged his apparatus some little distance from the ring, but in a good position for trade. And when the attention of all was directed to the competitors for the Burgomaster's prize, he also joined the crowd and watched the progress of the match. He recognised one face inside the ring, and one just without. He would have known Robert and Paul anywhere; their countenances were impressed on his memory. He looked about in vain for another face he expected to see—a pleasant one, which had smiled on him, and given him cheery words. But though he looked again and again at the twenty boys wearing scarlet caps, he could not find it. At length he ventured to make a remark to a pretty, bright-looking girl who stood beside him looking on:

"I thought the lad who lives with the toll-master was going to try his luck," he said.

"So he was," replied the maiden, who happened to be one of the miller's daughters, "but he has had an accident and burnt his hand."

"How did it happen?"

"He was at the cherry feast at Naumburg, and some of the rough boys of the town began letting off squibs, though it is forbidden by the authorities. And in some way, I don't know how, Hans Richter got hold of a squib, which went off in his hand and hurt him dreadfully. He's getting better now, but is not well enough to shoot."

"Who's likely to win the day?"

"I don't know for certain, but I think my brother, for he's the best shot in Kösen. They do say that if Hans had been able to shoot, Robert might have lost the prize."

"Where is your brother Robert?"

"There, standing close to that large tree," replied the girl, pointing to one of the faces Franz had recognised.

"And the boy talking to him, who is he?"

"That's Paul Ebhardt, his greatest friend."

"Where do you live?"

"At the mill."

"And where does Paul Ebhardt live?"

"In the town; his father is a master tailor. But why do you ask so many questions, do you want any help? You look so very old, and seem very poor."

"Yes, young girl, I am both old and poor," replied Franz, "but I don't require help, for my Master never forgets me, and He can send me all the help I want. Thank you for answering my questions." And the old man turned away.

He walked slowly back to his wooden table, and attended to his fire, muttering, "Poor lad, poor lad, I'm so sorry for him! I wish I'd left my sausages and found him. Well, well, it can't be helped now, but old Franz must try and set wrong right."

He seated himself on his wooden stool, nor did he rise when a great noise of shouting announced that the prize was won. He made no comment when he heard Robert Klein was the victor, he merely stamped on the ground impatiently, and then he seemed to remember that such a feeling was wrong, for he said aloud: "That won't do, Franz; that's not the way to set wrong right; be a Christian, and just do the Master's work, and copy Him. Did He ever grow impatient?"

When customers came, the old man was calm as before, and served them with the care he generally exercised. But all the time, he was thinking, and the results of his meditations were comprised in these words, which fell from his lips before he lay down upon a heap of straw in an out-house: "To-morrow morning, the first thing you do, Franz, must be to go to the toll-house and ask to see the toll-master."

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