And as the child spoke a melancholy expression stole over her countenance, and a tear stood in her beautiful eyes.
"Then," said grandpa, "there is the story of the long-bow archers, who once upon a time took up their abode in our own dear German forests, and played strange tricks with travellers."
"Ah, that will do bravely," said little Henry, "I love to hear of gallant heroes; do tell us all about it, grandpa; you have told us the story before, but I do so long to hear it again, and I feel sure we are all of one mind."
"Not so fast, Henry," returned the old man, "those heroes, as you call them, had but little to recommend them to honest folk and well-meaning people."
"Why, grandpa, were they not brave men?"
"Bravery, child, is a very doubtful word."
"Why doubtful, grandpa? Did they not live happily in the green wood, and did they not take away the money from hard-hearted rich people, and give it to deserving, good sort of people, who wanted it more than they?"
"Yes, Henry, they did all this, but still they are not to be commended."
Now you must know that Henry was a great hand at an argument; he was not more than ten and a half, half-past ten as the children say, rather young for a logician, but he loved to reason out a thing as well as he could.
"Well then," said Henry, "I cannot understand it at all."