Anna sought for the list, and read slowly the names of the fallen. Their faces brightened more and more, none belonging to them were dead. Suddenly Anna paused, and uttered a low cry, then looked at Father Buschman with a terrified expression. Perhaps the old man understood her, for he trembled a little, and his head fell upon his breast, but he raised it proudly again. Looking almost commandingly at Anna, he said,
“Read on, my daughter.”
But Anna could not read. The paper trembled in her hand, and her face was pale as death.
“Read on,” repeated the old man—“read on, I, your father, command you to read!”
Anna sighed deeply. “I will obey,” she said, and casting a glance of inexpressible sorrow at the old man, two new names fell from her lips and tears to consecrate them. “Anton Buschman, Frederick Buschman,” and then taking advantage of the breathless stillness, she added, “The two brothers were the first to attack the enemy—they died the death of heroes!” She ceased. The paper dropped from her trembling hands and fell at the old man’s feet.
The weeping eyes of the crowd were turned upon old Buschman. As if crushed by the storm, he had staggered to the bench; he bowed his head upon his breast that no one might see the expression of his face; his trembling hands clasped on his knees, made a touching picture of silent sorrow.
His son Henry, who had been standing with the others, stepped softly to him, and kneeling down, put his arms around the old man’s neck and spoke to him tenderly.
The old man started up with terror—his glance turned from his son to the crowd, and met everywhere sympathizing and troubled faces. “Well,” he asked, in a hard, rough voice, “why do you weep? Did you not hear that my sons died the death of heroes? Have they not fallen for their country and their king? It would become us to weep if they were cowards and fled in battle. But Anna Sophia told us they died the death of heroes. Therefore, let us think of them with love and pride. ‘Blessed are the dead, for they see God!’”
He sank upon his knees and murmured low prayers for the repose of the dead, and now he wept for the first time. At his side knelt his son and Anna Sophia; and the crowd, overcome by emotion and sympathy, followed their example, and with bended knees murmured the pious prayers of the Church for the dead.
The solemn stillness was broken by the beating of drums and the tramping of horses. A company of infantry, headed by the drummer and fifer, marched up the street and approached the villagers, who, rising from their knees, gazed anxiously at the troops.