“My, how he ran!” sighed Max, “and we called and called to him, and finally made ‘Goggles’” (this the most dignified of the tutors of the Prince) “go after him. But of course he couldn’t run fast enough, and the boy got quite away. I wish I could find that boy. Betty,” rising on one elbow, “when I walk, I will! I do so want that boy and that dog!”
“Why,” laughed matter-of-fact Betty, “you’ve heaps of boys to play with, and heaps of dogs!”
“But not one boy who can play the violin. And not one dog that can dance.”
“Well, that dog was a dear,” Betty agreed cordially; “and—why, Maxchen,” she went on, “we’ll ask Grandpapa Franzchen to get the boy and the dog for us, this very Christmas Day. We’ll—” But the little maid’s blithe voice was interrupted by the sound of footsteps in the corridor. The door opened softly, “His Majesty the Emperor and the Herr Doctor,” was solemnly announced. And into the sunlit room, two stately men came.
We know quite well how “Unser Franz” looked. We saw him, that very morning, speaking kindly to Fritzl and Tzandi, at the Riesenthor.
“Merry Christmas—Merry Christmas, dear Grandpapa Franzchen and dear Herr Doctor!” cried the children. And Betty slipped quickly to the floor, and curtsied demurely to the Emperor.
“Merry Christmas, Merry Christmas!” returned the Emperor and Doctor gaily, who had wisely given the children the longed-for chance to say it first.
Then the old Kaiser caught Betty up in his arms, and kissed her forehead. “Now God bless thee, Liebchen,” he said, seating himself in the great chair beside the bed, and bending over and kissing Max on both his cheeks. Then, with an arm around each grandchild, he looked up at the Herr Doctor, standing straight and tall beside him.
A very king of men was the Herr Doctor, with stalwart shoulders, and kindly grave eyes, the color of the sea, when the sky is clouded.
“Well, your Highness,” he said, in a voice as tender as his eyes, “all ready to walk to-night?”