“There’s been an awful wreck between here and Nüremberg. I heard the news as soon as I got down to Eisenach. The town is all excitement, for they say many have been killed or badly injured. Oh, my poor, poor father!”
With that Fritz could say no more, but sank into a chair. Frieda poured out a glass of water and held it to his lips; then wetting her handkerchief, she gently bathed his aching temples, while little Katrina walked over to where he sat, and took her playmate by the hand.
“But,” said Rudolf, reassuringly, “thou art by no means certain thy father has been injured; so take courage! Still, even if thou shouldst find that he has suffered with the others, thou must be very brave and help him bear it. But come, bübchen, let us not tarry. I’ll go down with thee right away.”
As the two hurried down the mountain road they could see the city lights far below them. The houses themselves were invisible, having melted into the gray of the long German twilight.
On drawing near the town, Fritz, spurred by his great anxiety, broke into a run, and Rudolf had not the heart to check him. In the streets they found much confusion; people were hurrying to and fro. The most of them, however, were making their way to the station, and it was there that Fritz, followed by Rudolf, turned his steps. Suddenly he caught sight of one of his young friends and called to him.
“Do you know who was hurt, Heinrich?”
The boy stopped for a moment and stared at Fritz.
“Why, haven’t you heard that Count von Scholtz and his Excellency the Mayor have been badly knocked up, maybe killed? There have been other, too, they say.”
“Who were the others?” Fritz exclaimed.
“I don’t know,” Heinrich answered. “Those were the most important ones; I haven’t heard who the others were.”