CHAPTER VII.—THE DEPARTURE.
Mrs. Dote had already twice obtained a prolongation of the holiday term, but now the father wrote that it could be no further extended; it was high time, he said, for Fritz to recommence his studies. Mina, also, was not only required in the school, but was indispensable to her mother. Therefore a definite day was fixed by him for their return home.
The children, who knew perfectly well that such a time of festal enjoyment could not last for ever, prepared themselves without opposition for their departure. And then, what a great deal they would have to tell at home; how their father and mother would be astonished, and the clergyman's Carl, and the bailiff's Matilda! And then, it sounded so very nice in the diary which Fritz had kept, "I and the prince."
Meta and Hugo were almost more cast down about the parting than their friends, and the tutor and the governess seemed to them anything but a compensation for the loss of such pleasant companions.
On the day before they left, Hugo wished to perform an especial deed of heroism. The old keeper had betrayed to him that in a cleft of a tolerably lofty rock in the deer-park a screech-owl had built a nest.
"Oh, a living owl!" exclaimed Hugo; "we must have him!"
"Don't you trouble yourself about that, noble sir," said the keeper; "besides, it is more dangerous than it seems; the rock is steep and crumbly, and just below is a stony hollow, where, in ancient times, they got stone. Wait, sir, till I've got rid of the rheumatism in my feet, and then I myself will try to catch the creature for you. You must not run such a risk."
"Listen, Fritz," said Hugo to him after this conversation, "we'll get the beast ourselves, spite of everything!"
"No," returned Fritz thoughtfully, "we'd better not; think how distressed your mother would be if anything happened to you, and my godmother would be shockingly angry with me if I should let you go."
"I don't care for your godmother, not I!" exclaimed Hugo in a tone of defiance, for he could very ill brook contradiction, and without another word he walked down towards the castle.
Early the next morning, Hugo stole away quietly by himself towards the cliff in the park; he did not find it very difficult to clamber up so as to bring himself near to the cleft in the rock, which contained the coveted nest; when, all at once, away went a piece of rock from under his foot; he held himself fast, however, by a small bush, but there he hung, like the Emperor Maximilian of old, on the Martinswand, below him the deep stony hollow, and feeling it impossible to advance a single step forward. There was an end now of all his defiant courage and princely pride, and he uttered a loud piercing cry for help; but, ah! he then remembered with horror that the old keeper, the only person who lived near, was a most totally deaf.
The next moment the cry of "Hugo!" sounded from the wood.
"Fritz, Fritz!" shouted he, overjoyed; "make haste, Fritz, and help me!"
And Fritz, who had been for some time seeking for the prince in vain, rushed forth out of the wood, and though he was naturally of a deliberative character, and one which did not inconsiderately rush into danger, yet he now climbed up, and with all that courage and agility which a sudden sense of danger often gives birth to, seized hold of Hugo, and half-scrambling and half-tumbling, down they both came to the ground, with torn hands and trousers, yet holding still firmly together.
Hugo, whose haughty bravery was considerably damped by the terror he had felt, and the danger he had been exposed to, lay half-fainting on the ground and gazed with emotion at Fritz, who, well pleased with the result of his intervention, yet seemed to regard it as nothing very remarkable.
"Fritz," said he at length, "I should not much like to tell my mother, because she is often so sorrowful, and she will weep so bitterly over a misfortune which might have happened, just as if it had happened; but I shall not forget you!" and with a princely bearing he drew a beautiful ring, in which was set a red stone, from his finger, saying, "There, take this ring from me, it belonged to my father; and if you show me again this ring, whether it be soon or in years to come, it will remind me how you have helped me to-day."
Fritz, who, as I said, did not regard the affair as one of such grave importance, nevertheless was delighted with the gift, until an idea suddenly occurring to him, he said, "But if your mother should make inquiries after the ring?"
"Then I will tell her what you have done for me," replied Hugo, who had now recovered his self-possession, "and she will say it was right."
The gentle, warm-hearted Meta took a tearful leave of Mina; she wished very much to give her, as a parting present, her beloved Rosalinde, but Mina would, on no account, allow of so great a sacrifice, and the Princess Clotilde gave her instead a pretty silk apron and a beautiful book. Fritz also received presents of books and handsome writing-apparatus from Hugo. Mrs. Dote, who had conceived a cordial affection for the children, did not know how to give them enough for themselves and as presents to carry home to their parents. She was, however, raised to the very summit of felicity, when the princess ordered the carriage to be got ready, in order that her children might accompany their young friends at least half-way home. Fritz and Mina had not the slightest objection to be driven back in so stately and agreeable a manner, in a comfortable carriage, along the very road which they had traversed thither so timidly and humbly with their knapsack and basket.
Of course, these glories also came to an end, although the kind coachman drove much farther than the half-way, so that they could now see the hospitable farm-house in the fields below them. Then came the leave-taking, which, as a rule with children, consists of not many words. Hugo pressed significantly the hand upon which Fritz wore the ring, and Meta kissed Mina with tears in her eyes. The princely children drove back to the castle, and the schoolmaster's children went on foot to their modest home, but warm hearts and kind greetings they knew awaited them there, and they walked forward with cheerful steps, without lamenting over the glories which were departed.
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