“What! have you not heard? All Vienna is ringing with the news! It was young Franz, the goldsmith’s apprentice, who climbed out on the spire 416 yesterday and waved the flag. In some way, the little window near the top was fastened on the inside, and the poor boy was forced to stay out all night clinging to the spire. It is only a short time ago that he was discovered and brought fainting down the ladders. After working over him a little while he seemed all right, and was carried to his home. And there’s another strange thing. Nicholas, old Jacob Wirtig’s nephew, was picked up, mangled and bleeding, at the foot of the tower stairs this morning. He has just been taken to the hospital.”
The next day Franz received a summons from the emperor. As he followed the officer who had been sent to conduct him to the palace, to his surprise the marble steps and the corridor beyond were lined on either sides with the soldiers of the Imperial Guard, and as the slender, boyish figure, with its crown of golden hair, passed between the files, each mailed and bearded warrior reverently saluted.
On he went, through another chamber, and into a spacious hall with marble floors and hangings of rich tapestry. On both sides were rows of courtiers and officers, the rich costumes and nodding plumes and splendid uniforms, with their jewelled orders, contrasting strangely with the lad’s plain, homespun garments. “It is the emperor,” whispered the guide as they drew near a canopied throne, and Franz dropped on one knee.
He felt the hand which was placed on his bowed head tremble, and a kind voice said, “Rise, my boy! kneel not to me! It is I, thy emperor, who should rather kneel to do thee homage for thy filial piety. My brave lad, I know thy story well! Ask of me a place near my person, aid for thy sick mother, what thou wilt, and it is granted thee! And remember that as long as the Emperor of Austria shall live he will feel himself honored in being known as thy friend!”
In a short time another summons came, this time from the hospital. At the end of a long row of beds lay Nicholas, with his arm bandaged and strips of plaster covering the gashes on his forehead.
“Oh, Franz!” he groaned, “if God has forgiven me, why cannot you? And you will believe that I speak the truth when I tell you that I was sorry for what I had done, and I had turned to go back and unbolt the door when I tripped and fell.”
Franz bent over him with a bright smile. “I forgive you everything, Nicholas,” he said, sweetly, “so please let us say no more about it. It wasn’t a bad exchange. I lost an enemy but I gained a friend,” and the hands of the two boys met in a firm, loving grasp.