Whatever his reason may have been, however, Ferber was soon as popular in his new place of residence as previously in Berlin, for he had that kindliness of character which is the “dearest child of the dram-bottle.”  He was very fond of my father, who reciprocated the sentiment.  But this friendship did not spring up at the very beginning of their acquaintance.  In fact it developed out of a little controversy between them, that is to say, a defeat sustained by my father, one of whose amiable peculiarities it was, within twenty-four hours at the latest to convert his anger at being put to flight, into approbation bordering on homage for the victor.

His defeat came about thus.  One day the assertion was made by Ferber, that, whether we liked it or not, a German must be looked upon as the “father of the French Revolution,” for Minister Necker, though born in Geneva, was the son or grandson of a Kuestrin postmaster.  This seemed to my father a perfectly preposterous assertion, and he combated it with a rather supercilious mien, till it was finally shown to be substantially correct.  Then my father’s arrogance, growing out of a conviction of his superior knowledge, was transformed first into respect and later into friendship, and even twenty years after, whenever we drove from our Oderbruch village to the neighboring city of Kuestrin, he never had much to say about Crown Prince Fritz, or Katte’s decapitation, but regularly remarked:  “Oh yes, Necker, who may be called the father of the French Revolution, traced his ancestry back to this city of Kuestrin.  I owe the information to Ferber, Captain Ferber, whom we called Teinturier.  It is a pity he could not give up his aqua vitae.  At times it was pitiable.”

Yes, pitiable it was, but not to us children, who, on the contrary, always broke out into cheers whenever the captain, usually in rather desolate costume, came staggering up the Great Church Street to find a place to continue his breakfast.  We used to follow close behind him and tease and taunt him till he would try to catch and thrash one or the other of us.  Occasionally he succeeded; but I always escaped with ease, because I chose for my teasings only days when it had rained a short time before.  Then there stood in the street between our house and the church on the other side a huge pool of water, which became my harbor of refuge.  Holding my stilts at the proper angle, I sprang quickly upon them as soon as I saw that Teinturier, in spite of his condition, was close on my heels, and then I marched triumphantly into the pool of water.  There I stood like a stork on one stilt and presented arms with the other, as I continued scoffing at him.  Cursing and threatening he marched away, the poor captain.  But he took care not to make good his threats, because in his good moments he did not like to be reminded of the bad ones.