“Now is the time,” he said finally, and stepped up to the refreshment table, dripping with perspiration.  “Here’s to the gracious lords and ladies and all the noble princes and princesses; and whoever doesn’t join in the toast will get such a boxing on the ears from me that he’ll hear the angels singing!” A loud Vivat responded to the gallant toast.  Frederick bowed.  “Take nothing amiss, gracious lords and ladies; we are but ignorant peasant people.”  At this moment a disturbance arose at the end of the floor—­shouting, scolding, laughter, all in confusion.  “Butter-thief, butter-thief!” called a few children; and John Nobody pushed his way, or rather was pushed, through the crowd, his head sunk between his shoulders and pressing with all his might toward the door.

“What’s the matter?  What are you doing to our John!” called Frederick imperiously.

“You’ll find out soon enough,” coughed an old woman in a kitchen apron and with a dish-rag in her hand.  “Shame!” John, the poor devil, who had to put up with the worst at home, had tried to secure for himself a paltry half pound of butter for the coming time of scarcity, and, without remembering that he had concealed it in his pocket, neatly wrapped in his handkerchief, had stepped near the kitchen fire, and now the grease was disgracing him by running down his coat.

There was general excitement; the girls sprang back from fear of soiling their clothes, or pushed the culprit forward.  Others made room as much out of pity as of caution.  But Frederick stepped forward.  “Rogue!” he cried; and a few hard slaps struck his patient protege; then he pushed him toward the door and gave him a good kick on the way.  The gallant came back dejected; his dignity was injured; the general laughter cut him to the quick, although he tried to bring himself into the swing again by a bold huzza!—­It did not work.  He was on the point of taking refuge behind the bass-viol again, but before that he wanted to produce still another brilliant effect; he drew out his silver watch, at that time a rare and precious ornament.  “It is almost ten o’clock,” he said.  “Now the Bride’s Minuet!  I will strike up.”

“A beautiful watch!” said the swineherd, and leaned forward in reverential curiosity.

“What did it cost?” cried Will Huelsmeyer, Frederick’s rival.

“Will you pay for it?” asked Frederick.  “Have you paid for it?” retorted Will.  Frederick threw him a haughty glance and seized the bow in silent majesty.  “Well, well,” Huelsmeyer went on, “such things have happened.  As you know well enough, Franz Ebel had a beautiful watch too, till Aaron the Jew took it away from him.”  Frederick did not answer, but nodded proudly to the first violin and they began to play with all their might and main.