“What was he like?” asks another soldier, incredulously.
“Like? How should I know? It was as dark as pitch. I just caught a glimpse of him in the flash of the powder—an ugly, brown-looking devil he seemed! but he was gone in a breath, and I had no time to look for him.”
The soldiers round about burst out laughing.
“Hold, Karl!” says one, slapping him boisterously on the shoulder. “You are a good shot, but you missed aim for once. No need to conjure up a brown devil to account for that, old comrade!”
Karl, finding his story discredited, retorted angrily; and a quarrel was fast brewing, when the sergeant on guard came up and ordered the men to their several quarters.
“Holy Saint Bridget!” said Bertha, shivering, “how cold it is! and there, I declare, is the Convent clock striking half after one! Liebe Gretchen, you really must go to bed—what would your father say?”
So we both crept back to bed. Bertha was asleep again almost before she had laid her head upon her pillow; but I lay awake till dawn of day.