"Yes, and expects no notice taken of it. Did it never occur to you that William Tell's little son was as brave as William Tell?"
"Never till this minute! Do you hear that, Anderl?"
Speckbacher's little son pressed his hand, and then stroked it, looking up in his father's face.
"I should not have minded having the apple set on my head for you to shoot at, father."
"Would not you, my little boy?" And Speckbacher's brown hand fondly stroked the boy's brown curls.
The sun was now nearly set. Hofer, as the best shot, was carried round the ground, with flags, songs, and garlands; and another target added as a trophy to those on his already honoured walls. He and Speckbacher had pretty well ascertained whom they could depend on; a few more earnest words spoken, and they were all on their way to their homes.
Hofer re-entered the house, with his hand on Rudolf's shoulder.
"Here's a young fellow, now," said he cheerfully to his wife, "who had faith that I would not blow his right hand to pieces, and disable him for life, just out of brag."
"Of course you would not, Sandwirth," said Rudolf. "What good would it have done you?"