"Yes, a while afterwards, when the Prince had heard of it. He was given the rank of a sergeant, and something better even than that. The Prince called him 'my son.' The Prince rode to the front. 'My son,' he said to the drummer boy, 'I understand you know how to stop the mouth of the enemy when he is about to talk too loudly. We will try what more you can do,' said he, and then the drummer became sergeant."
"It was too bad that they didn't make him a general," said Viggo. He stood there polishing his coat button, then he added half aloud, "Do you think I might become a general, Hans?"
"Well, well, listen to the spring chicken!" said Hans. "So it is general you want to be, cub that you are? Never mind, don't blush for that, it wasn't a bad question. But it is very difficult, for then you must learn much, oh very much."
"Mathematics, you mean?" said Viggo. "I have learned some of that already, and languages too."
"Yes, that is well enough, but you must learn much more, you must learn the commands and what is more, boy! you must learn to drill so that you don't make a mistake in a single movement; the gun must dance in your hands, and when you strike it it must sing like the dean in church when he sings 'Amen.' And you must march so stiff and straight that the balls fly past you, as soon as they see you."
Viggo did not know when he should learn all this, but Old Hans said that those things one learned in war.
"But if only war broke out again," said Viggo.
"Yes, you are right, my boy, if only war broke out! that was well said," agreed the Grenadier.
"Then do you think I might become a general?" continued Viggo.