“Our king has won a battle!”
Shouts of triumph were the result.
“Did he whip the French, or the Austrians?” asked one of the peasants, as he drew close to Anna, and tried to seize the paper.
Anna drew it back hastily.
“The steward sent it to me, to read to the community, and I shall do so.”
“Tell us, Anna,” said another, “has he beaten the Russians or the cunning Saxons? I wish he could trample them all under foot.”
“He will, if he has not yet done so,” cried old Buschman.
“Children, our king will conquer all his enemies; he is a hero, and has only brave fellows to fight for him. Just think of the thirty noble boys that our village alone gave him!”
“Read, Anna, read!” cried the curious crowd. And Anna, ready to please them, walked under the linden, and stepped upon the wooden beach that surrounded the tree.
Father Buschman placed himself at her feet, and several old men and women followed his example. The young people gathered around in groups, and gazed respectfully at the youthful girl, whose bright, beautiful face glowed as if lighted by the evening sun. The little boys, who had followed their parents from curiosity, were amusing themselves in turning somersets.