At that moment a door opened and a woman peered out, holding a candle high above her head. “Is that you, Franz?” she said. “My brother has been expecting you this half hour.” By the flickering light of the candle Franz could see that there was no one in the entry. He turned, impelled by a strong desire to search the tall cupboard near the stairs and see if any one had concealed himself within, but the dread of being laughed at kept him back, and he followed the woman into a room where a gray-haired man sat, leaning wearily against the back of his chair.
“You may go now, Katrina,” said the man, motioning to an adjoining room; and when the door closed he turned to Franz, trembling with eagerness. “Well, have you decided?”
“I will try, Master Wirtig.”
The old sexton wrung his thin hands nervously. “But if you should fail?”
“In God is my trust,” answered the boy, calmly. “But one ‘if’ is as good as another. Why not say, if you succeed? It sounds more cheery.”
“God grant it!” answered the man, sinking back in his chair. “I had thought that it would be some hardy young sprig who should accept my offer—some sailor or stone-mason, whose calling had taught him to carry a steady head. I never dreamed that it would be a mere lad like thyself, and worn out, too, with the care of thy sick mother! Even now I feel I do thee a grievous wrong to listen to thy entreaties.”
“Think not of me, Master Wirtig; think rather of my mother. Shall we let her die, when a few moments on yonder spire would furnish the means to make her well? The kind physician who would have helped me was smitten with the fever yesterday, and there is no one to whom I can go.”
“Had I been as prudent as I ought, I could have aided thee. But this lingering illness has used up what I had put aside. Here is a little for thy present need—some broth for thy mother, and a bite for thyself, for thy cheeks look as pinched as if thou hadst not eaten a good meal for a fortnight.” He pulled out a covered basket from under the table, and continued: “I shall arrange with Nicholas—for he has worked with me so long that he is as familiar with the ladders as myself—to go with thee up to the little sliding window, and pass out the flag. Thou must let thyself down outside the window until thy toes touch the ledge below. Then thou must creep cautiously around to the opposite side of the spire, and wave the flag. Look always straight before thee or up at the sky. Thy safety lies in not glancing below. I believe in my heart thou wilt succeed. How I wish that this graceless Nicholas, this unruly nephew of mine, were such an one as thou! Then should I have some comfort. But with his evil companions and bad ways, he brings me naught but sorrow. Listen, Franz; if all goes well, thou shalt have his place in helping me with the care of the cathedral. There is no longer any dependence to be placed on him.”