“I can understand it, Caspar. Twice before, on some grand occasion, has old Jacob stood on the spire and waved a flag as the emperor passed in the streets below. And now, after all the fighting and the victory, when there is to be a triumphal entry into the city and a grand review, and such rejoicing as was never known before, he feels in honor bound to supply the customary salute from the cathedral. And since this miserable fever, which has stricken down so many in the city, has left him too weak to attempt it, he is trying, as you see by this notice, to get some one to take his place. He offers all the money which the emperor never fails to send as a reward, to say nothing of the glory. I’ll wager a florin that he’ll offer in vain! But come, let us be going. There’s too much work to be done, to be loitering here.”
Twice before on that day, once in the early morning, and again at noon, had the boy stood as if spellbound, with his eyes riveted on the beautiful spire. And now the setting of the sun had found him a third time at his post. The Platz was deserted, but the streets beyond were thronged with people hurrying to their homes. Was it fear, or the chill of the night air, that sent a shiver over the slender figure of the boy as he stood, letting his eyes slowly wander from the top of the spire to the base of the tower beneath, as if measuring the frightful distance? But as he 411 turned away with a little gesture of despair, there rose before him the vision of a wan and weary face, as white as the pillow against which it rested, and he heard the physician’s voice as he gently replaced the wasted hand on the coverlet: “The fever has gone, my boy, and all that your mother needs now to make her well and strong is good care and plenty of nourishing food.” The money offered by old Jacob would do all that, and much more. It would mean comfort for two or three years for both mother and son, with their simple way of living.
When the lad again faced the cathedral it was with an involuntary straightening of the shrinking figure. “With God’s help I will try,” he said aloud, with a determined ring to his voice, “and I must go at once to let Master Wirtig know. Now that I have finally decided, it is strange how the fear has flown. It is the hesitating that takes the courage out of one. After all”—he paced back, back, back, until he was far enough from the cathedral to get a good view of the noble structure—“who knows? It may look more difficult than it really is. ’Tis but a foothold of a few inches, but ’tis enough. If it were near the ground I should feel as safe as if I were on the floor of the great hall in the Stadt Haus. Why, then, should I fear up yonder?”
The flush in the western sky suddenly deepened to a vivid crimson. The clouds above the horizon, which a moment before had shone like waves of gold, became a sea of flame. The ruddy glow illumined the old cathedral, touching rich carving and lace-like tracery with a new splendor, while far over sculptured dome and stately tower rose the lofty spire, bathed from finial to base in the radiant light.
The boy made a step forward, and, slipping back the little cap from his locks, stretched out his clasped hands toward the sky. “O Mary, tender mother!” he cried, “plead thou for me in my time of need to-morrow! O Jesu! be near to help and save!”
He replaced the cap, and hurried across the Platz to the crowded thoroughfare beyond. At the end of three blocks he turned into a narrow street, and stopped in front of a high house with steep, tiled roof. The lamp in the swinging iron bracket above the door gave such a feeble light that he was obliged to grope his way through the hall to the stairs.
At the second landing he paused for a moment, fancying that he heard a light footfall behind him, but all was still, and he hastened on to the next floor. Again he stopped, thinking that he caught the sound of a stealthy, cat-like tread on the steps below. “Who’s there?” he called out boldly, but the lingering 412 echo of his own voice was the only answer.
“How foolish I am!” he exclaimed. “It is but the clatter of my shoes on the stone stairs.” Up another flight and down the long, narrow entry he went, and still he could not shake off the feeling that he was being followed.