The king, recognizing the soldiers who had uncovered his roof, drew near to the fire.

"Shall I also come and eat with you?" he said, good-humoredly.

The soldiers looked up from the tin plates, in which the noodles were swimming.

"Yes, sire," said Fritz Kober, jumping up and approaching the king; "yes, you shall eat with us; here is my spoon and knife, and if you reject it, and are only mocking us, I shall be very angry indeed."

The king laughed, and turning to the officer who had followed him, said as if to excuse himself:

"I must really eat, or I shall make the man furious.--Give me your spoon; but listen, I can tell you, if the noodles are not good, I shall be angry." He took the plate and began to eat.

The soldiers all stopped, and looked eagerly at the king. When he had swallowed the first bite, Fritz Kober could no longer restrain his curiosity.

"Well, sire," he said, triumphantly, "what do you say to it! Can't Buschman prepare better noodles than your cleverest cook?"

"Verily," said the king, smiling, "he never cooked such noodles for me, and I must say they are good, but, now I have had enough, and I am much obliged to you."

He wished to return his plate to Fritz Kober, but Fritz shook his head violently.

"See here, your majesty, no one gets off from us with just a 'thank you,' and you, least of all, sire; every one must pay his part."

"Well," said the king, "how much is my share?"

"It cost each of us three groschen; the king may pay what he pleases."

"Will you credit me, dragoon?" said the king, who searched his pockets in vain for money.

"Oh! yes, your majesty, I will credit you, but only until tomorrow morning, early; for, if a cannon-ball took my head off, I could not dun your majesty, and you would be my debtor to all eternity."

"It would then be better to settle our accounts to-day," said the king, and nodding to the soldiers, he left them.

CHAPTER XIII. THE WATCH-FIRE.

The officer who had accompanied the king, returned in an hour to the watch-fire of the dragoons, and handed five gold pieces to Fritz Kober, which had been sent by the king to pay for his portion of the noodles; then, without giving the surprised soldier time to thank him, he withdrew.

Fritz looked long and thoughtfully at the gold pieces, which, in the light of the flickering fire, shone beautifully in his hand.

"It is very well--very well that the king kept his word, and paid me punctually to-night," said he to Charles Henry Buschman, who sat near, and with his elbow resting on his knee, watched his friend closely.

"And why so, Fritz?" said Charles.

"I will tell you, Charles Henry. If I fall to-morrow, I will have something in my pocket that you will inherit from me. I declare to you, no one but you alone shall be my heir; all that I have belongs to you. Thunder and lightning! I am rich! it is better I should make my testament; I don't know what may happen to me to-morrow. I have neither pen nor paper; well, I will make it verbally! I will wake some of my comrades, and they shall witness my last will and testament." He reached over to the sleeping soldiers, who lay near him on the ground, but Charles held him back.

"Let them sleep, friend," said he, pleadingly; "it is not necessary you should have witnesses. G.o.d, and the moon, and a thousand stars hear what we say to each other; and why speak of your will and your fortune, friend? Do you think I would care for that miserable gold, if you were no longer by my side? Do you think I would use it for any other purpose than to buy your tombstone, and write on it in golden letters?"

"What? a tombstone!" said Fritz Kober, with an astonished look; "and why would you place a tombstone over a poor, simple, unknown fellow like myself, Charles Henry? Many gallant generals and officers fall in battle; the earth drinks their blood, and no one knows where they lie.

And with golden letters, did you say, Charles? Well, I am curious to know what you would place upon my tombstone."

"I will tell you, Fritz. I will write on your tombstone--'Here lies Fritz Kober; the most faithful friend, the best soul, the most honest heart; good and simple as a child, brave as a hero, constant as a dove, and true as a hound.'"

"But am I all that?" said Fritz, amazed.

"Yes, you are all that!" said Charles, with a trembling voice. "You have been more than this to me, and I will never forget it. I was a poor, shrinking youth when I came to this camp; I knew nothing--could do nothing. My comrades, who soon found me out, mocked and complained of me, and played all manner of jokes upon me. They ridiculed me, because I had no beard; they mimicked me, because my voice was soft and unsteady; they a.s.serted that I would make a miserable soldier, because I grew deadly pale at parade. Who was it took pity on me, and opposed themselves to my rude, unfeeling companions? Who scolded and threatened to strike them, if they did not allow me to go my own way, in peace and quiet? Who was patient with my stupidity, and taught me how to go through with my military duties creditably, and how to manage my horse?

You! you, dear Fritz! you alone. You were always at my side, when others threatened. You were patient as a mother when she teaches her dear little boy his letters, and looks kindly upon him, and is good to him, even when he is dull and inattentive."

"Well," said Fritz Kober, thoughtfully, "one can do nothing better than to be good to a man who deserves it, and who is himself so kind, and pure, and brave, that a poor fellow like myself feels ashamed, and looks down when the soft eyes are fixed upon him. I tell you what, Charles Henry, there is a power in your eyes, and they have subdued me. I think the angels in heaven have just such eyes as yours, and when you look upon me so softly and kindly, my heart bounds with delight. I have dreamed of your eyes, Charles Henry; I have blushed in my sleep when I thought I had uttered a coa.r.s.e curse, and you looked upon me sorrowfully. I know you cannot endure cursing, or drink, or even tobacco."

"My father was a poor schoolmaster," said Charles Henry; "we lived quietly together, and he could not bear cursing. He used to say, 'When men cursed, it hurt G.o.d like the toothache.' He said--'G.o.d had not made the corn to grow, that men might make brandy, but bread.' We were too poor to buy beer and wine, so we drank water, and were content."

"Your father was right," said Fritz, thoughtfully. "I believe, myself, corn was not intended to make brandy, and I don't care for it; I will give it up altogether. If we live through this war, and receive good bounty money, we will buy a few acres, and build us a little house, and live together, and cultivate our land, and plant corn; and, in the evening, when our work is done, we will sit on the bench before the door, and you will relate some of your beautiful little stories; and so we will live on together till we are old and die."

"But you have forgotten one thing, Fritz."

"What is that, Charles Henry?"

"You have forgotten that you will take a wife into your little house, and she will soon cast me out."

"Let her try it!" cried Fritz, enraged, and doubling his flat threateningly. "Let her try only to show the door to Charles Henry, and I will shut her out, and she shall never return--never! But," said he, softly, "it is not necessary to think of this; I will never take a wife.

We will live together; we need no third person to make strife between us."

Charles said nothing. He looked smilingly into the glowing fire, and then at his comrade, with an amused but tender expression.

If Fritz had seen it, his heart would have bounded again, but he was too much occupied then with his own thoughts to look up.

"Listen, Charles. If nothing comes of our little piece of ground and our house--if my last ball comes to-morrow and carries me off--"

"Stop, stop, Fritz; I will hold my head so that the same ball will carry it off!"

"If you do that, I will be very angry with you," cried Fritz. "You are too young to die, and I will be glad even in my grave to know that you are walking on the green earth. In order to do well, you must have gold; therefore you must be my heir. If I fall, these beautiful gold pieces belong to you; you shall not put a tombstone over me. Buy yourself a few acres, Charles Henry, and when your corn grows and blossoms, that shall be my monument."

Charles took his hand, and his eyes were filled with tears. "Speak no more of death," said he, softly; "it makes my heart heavy, and I shall lose my courage in the battle to-morrow when I think of all you have said. Ugh! how cold it is! My soul feels frosted!"

"I will go and seek a little more wood," said Fritz, springing up, "and make a good fire, and then you shall be warmed."

He hurried off, and Charles remained alone by the tire, looking gravely on the glowing coals; he smiled from time to time, and then he breathed heavily, as if oppressed by some weighty secret. Suddenly he heard a voice behind him.

"Ah! I have found the fire again! Good-evening, children."

"Good-evening, sir king. Comrades, wake up; the king is here!"

"No, no; let your comrades sleep," said the king, softly. "The fire will do me good. I found the right path to the fire, as I said Your dragoons have uncovered my quarters, and the cold blasts of wind whistle through them and freeze the water in my room. I prefer to sit by the fire and warm myself." He was about to seat himself on the straw near the fire, when a harsh voice called out:

"March on!--every lazy scamp wants a place by the fire, but not one of them brings a splinter of wood."