"The Heide boys--Hurrah!" shouted Felix Merckel, who had many a time fought side by side with these comrades of the Sellinthin squadron, and he stretched a foaming jug out of the window.
His father threw open the door of the little room reserved for "gentry," where only wine was drunk, in the hopes that at least some of these wealthy yeomen would patronise it. But, without answering the warm greetings, they proceeded in gloomy silence to unharness the horses, and to take out of their vehicles all manner of tools, such as hatchets, files, and spades.
The Schrandeners were astounded.
"Good gracious! have you lost your tongues?" Felix Merckel called from the window. "And why haven't you brought your paragon, Lieutenant Baumgart, with you?"
Still no answer.
The Schrandeners began to think these strangers must be playing off a joke on them, and burst into extravagant laughter.
Then Karl Engelbert, who evidently had the command of the expedition, came under the window from which Felix's broad-shouldered form obtruded itself, and, greeting him with a half-military salute, said--
"With your permission, Herr Lieutenant, we have come here not to take part in any festivities or anything of that sort. We are a funeral party."
"But here in Schranden no one is going to be buried," cried Felix Merckel, still laughing, but his face appreciably lengthened.
"Indeed, Herr Lieutenant! Nevertheless, we have been invited to a funeral."