“No, no, Loneli, you don’t need to cry any more.  It is not at all the way your grandmother is taking it,” Kurt said consolingly.  “I’ll go to her ever so soon to explain what happened.  Please be happy and everything will come out all right.”

“Do you think so?” Loneli asked, pleasantly surprised.  Her eyes were clear again, for she always believed whatever Kurt said to her.  Now he rushed over to the noisy crowd of children, who seemed to have been waiting for him.  Kurt was always glad to have such numerous friends, for he usually needed a large following for the execution of his schemes.  To-day he had two large undertakings in his head, and he needed to persuade his comrades to join him.  He was explaining with such violent gestures and eager words that they entirely neglected the first strokes of the tower bell.  At the last and eighth stroke the little crowd dispersed as suddenly as a flock of frightened birds.  Then they rushed into the school house.  Kurt was home to-day ahead of everybody, too.  He approached his mother with a large sheet of paper.

“Look, mother, Mr. Trius got a song.  Yesterday evening he threatened two more of my friends with the stick, but they were luckily able to save themselves.  It seems as if he had at least four eyes and ears which can see and hear whatever is going on.  I finished the song.  Can I read it to you?”

“I wish you had no friends that Mr. Trius has occasion to frighten with a stick,” said the mother.  “I hope that it won’t ever happen to you.”

“Oh, he often threatens innocent people,” Kurt replied.  “Listen to a true description of him.”

   A song about Mr. Trius, the boy beater.

   Old Trius lives in our town,
   A haughty man is he,
   And every one that he can catch
   He beats right heartily.

   Old Trius wears a yellow coat,
   It’s very long and thick,
   But all the children run away
   At sight of his big stick.

   Old Trius of the pointed hat
   He wanders all around,
   And if he beats nobody, why
   There’s no one to be found.

   Old Trius thinks:  To spank a boy
   Is really very kind,
   And all he cannot hit in front
   At least he hits behind.

   Old Trius makes a pretty face
   With every blow he gives. 
   He’ll beat us all for many years,
   I’m thinking, if he lives.

The mother could not help smiling a little bit during the perusal, but now she said seriously:  “This song must under no condition fall into Mr. Trius’ hands.  He might not look at it as a joke, and you must not offend him.  I advise you, Kurt, not to challenge Mr. Trius in any way, for he might reply to you in some unexpected fashion.  He has his own ways and means of getting rid of people.”

Kurt was very anxious to get his mother’s permission to run about that same evening by moonlight with his friends, and his mother granted it willingly.