"It isn't necessary for them to sit down," said he to Pranken; "I had imagined you would have thought of that. Have them out of the way soon. You can't trust these common people, they soon get out of order. Let the wine be taken on board the boats, and there they may get as crazy as they please."
At the first glass Sevenpiper proposed the health of Frau Sonnenkamp, and Sonnenkamp returned thanks in her behalf from the outside steps, and expressed his regret that his wife, on account of illness, could not be present. He begged them to be as quiet as possible, for she was very sensitive. A damper was thus put upon the merriment, and Eric led the men back to the boats. They took their departure, the cannons roared, the music struck up, and then all was again still at the villa.
They sat in a friendly circle in the grand saloon, and Sonnenkamp looked more used up than he had ever been before; his features lighted up, however, when the Major, who had a happy thought, said,—
"This must all be reported by a good hand in the newspaper! You, Comrade," turning to Eric, "you will certainly do it up finely. Not a word; you must."
Eric explained that he had no intention of refusing; he had only wanted to do of his own accord what the Major had suggested. The Major gave him a violent grip of the hand, and did not drop it until Eric said,—
"If you squeeze my hand any longer, I shall not be able to write to-morrow."
The Major went to Eric's mother, and commended him for having sung with the people; he only regretted that Fräulein Milch had not been a spectator of the beautiful celebration, but she was stiff-necked in regard to everything connected with the Sonnenkamp house. He could not imagine why it was; she was in every other respect so kind towards everybody.
The Professorin knew why Fräulein Milch stayed away, and it gave her a severe twinge, that she herself had to be present, and that her son was to proclaim the fame of this man, who, in all that he did, had an entirely different end in view from what Eric imagined. She looked at the man, at his children, and at the whole company, and could not help thinking how it would be, if, instead of these salutes of cannon in his honor that now echoed in the night, a wholly different report should be heard over mountain and valley.
The company at last departed. Roland and Eric accompanied the Mother home. Roland was brimful of joy over this tribute of universal respect, and Eric took care to impress upon him again how great a happiness it was, to be able so to make other people happy. Roland spoke of the intention of his father to set out walnut trees throughout the whole region, and complained that he himself seemed to be like Alexander of Macedon, who found fault with his father, Philip, for leaving nothing for him to do. The Mother and Eric rejoiced at this awakened zeal of the youth, and when he took leave, the Mother shed tears as she kissed him.
"What was the matter with your mother, that she was so sad all the evening?" said Roland, as they were returning home.