“Oh, oh!” cried Adelheid, who had peered out too, and now shook her little head sadly, a cloud dimming her brightness. “Mamachen will not be pleased. It is the Herr Johann.”
At the child’s earnest words the whole party looked curiously through the trees at the man who was nearing the threshold of Franz’ cottage, treading the snow with a quick, light step. He was tall and blond, dressed like a hunter, with straight knickerbockers, short jacket and Tyrolean cap. His clothes seemed good, his manner assured, and as he reached the cottage door he called, “Franz! Franz! It is I.”
The woodcutter appeared from behind the cottage, brushing off the bark which clung to him after piling up his fagots.
“Good-day, Herr Johann,” he said, his loud voice carrying far in the winter solitude. Hurrying to the cottage door he flung it open and signed to the stranger to enter.
“Been heaping up your fagots, eh?” inquired Herr Johann, lingering a moment at the door-step to glance at the neat piles of wood, fruits of the woodcutter’s daily toil. “Ah, Franz, my good fellow, you’ll be rich yet.”
“Be pleased to enter,” invited Franz, holding open the door. The two disappeared inside and the door was closed.
“Who is Herr Johann, Adelheid?” asked Bob. “Do you know him?”
“Yes, Herr Officer,” the little girl responded, her face still troubled. “He is a gentleman whom Papachen has served for many years. Oh, in the war, and long ago! But now when he comes—I don’t know why—my mother is more than ever unhappy. She cries and Papachen grows angry. The last time Herr Johann came she begged Papachen not to go with him into the forest, but he would go and said only, 'Do you want always to be poor and hungry?’ Herr Johann heard and laughed. And he gave Wilhelm a mark, but Mamachen took it from him.”
“Is that all you can tell?” inquired Larry. “Hasn’t he another name besides Herr Johann?”
“I am sure he has, but I do not know it. I have never dared talk to him. He seems a great man, very proud.”