“A sheep!” they cried, “and what are we to do with it?”—­and they began to weep afresh.

“Kill him and roast him!” jeered the officer.  “You are brave soldiers.  Well, you will only have to do what we often do in camp.  Be your own cook and butler; none of us will help you.  We want to see what sort of practical soldiers you will make, and whether you are as good hands at cooking as at crying and blubbering.”

And the Austrians folded their arms, and looked on idly and with derisive satisfaction at these poor children who stood there with their heads bowed down with helplessness and grief.

At length little Ramin arose.  His eyes glistened with fierce defiance, and an expression of noble courage illuminated his pale countenance.

“If the sheep belongs to us,” said he, “we will eat him.”

“But he’s alive,” cried the boys.

“We will kill him,” answered the little fellow.

“We? we ourselves?  We are no butchers.  We have never done such a thing!”

“Have we ever killed a man?” asked Ramin, rolling his large bright eyes around the circle of his comrades.  “Have we ever deprived a man of his life?”

“No!”

“Well, then, we will have it yet to do!  We hope to be able to kill many an enemy, and to do that we will have to begin with some one.  Let us make believe, then, that this wether is the enemy, and that we have to attack him.  Now, then, down upon him!”

“Ramin is right,” cried the boys; “let us attack the enemy.”

“Attention!” commanded Ramin.

The boys drew themselves up in military order right opposite the bleating sheep.

“Draw swords!”

In the twinkling of an eye they had drawn their little rapiers, which looked more like penknives than swords, and which the Austrians had left to their little prisoners of war.

“One, two, three!” commanded the little Ramin.  “Attention!  Forward!”

Down they charged upon the enemy, who was standing motionless, with staring eyes, bleating loudly.  The Austrian soldiers roared and screamed with delight, and confessed, with tears in their eyes, that it was the best joke in the world, and no end of fun to see these poor boys made desperate by hunger.

The first feat of arms of the little cadets was completed, the wether was slain.  But now came the question how to dress him, how to convert the dead beast into nice warm roast meat.

They were well aware that none of the laughing, mocking soldiers would help them, and therefore they disdained to ask for help.  Wood, a roasting-pit, and a kettle were given them—­means enough to prepare a good soup and roast.  But how to begin and set about it they themselves hardly knew.  But gnawing hunger made them inventive.  Had they not often at home skinned many a cunningly caught mole—­had they not often killed and drawn a rabbit?  The only difference was that the sheep was somewhat larger than a mole or a rabbit.