Oscar felt that it was useless to wait longer.  Fred did not mean to come; he had seen that in the morning; but Fani, where was he?  As he asked himself this question, Oscar raised his fist threateningly in the air and muttered to himself:—­

“Oh, that Emma! that Xanthippe!”

His original intention had been to march to the windmill to the music of fife and drum, flute and harmonicon, but he had given up part of this plan; chiefly, he said to himself, on account of his father’s advice not to make any disturbance in a strange place; but also because he could not get a drum, and Feklitus would not play the flute.

Now it was time to move, and the procession began to march.  The lad from Lucerne went first, playing briskly upon the harmonicon; the others followed two and two, and Oscar in the middle held aloft the banner.  The staff was quickly planted as previously arranged; the beautiful banner floated proudly over the land.  Oscar took his stand by it, and the others formed a circle, lying on the grass about him.  With a loud ringing voice he began:—­

“Friends and brothers!”

“What does this mean?  What is this all about?” suddenly thundered a voice behind him.

The boys sprang to their feet.  Oscar looked round.  Two bearded men in uniform stood close behind him and looked at him with threatening glances.  In a flash Oscar turned about, made one great leap down the hill-side and away across the field like a madman.  Behind him came the Finks, scarcely touching the ground.  Down the other side ran the Lucerner fast on the heels of the Schwyzer, who tripped, and both went headlong into a ditch.  Feklitus was the only one who kept his ground.  He knew who he was; Fortunatus, the only son of Mr. Bickel.  No one would dare to meddle with him.  He knew, too, that he was by no means nimble, and the sudden appearance of the men in uniform had given him a strange feeling of heaviness in his legs.  He had no mind to stay alone, however, and so he seized the shoemaker’s boy by the collar, and held him as in a vise.

One of the men now came up to them and said roughly,—­

“Come along to the watch-house and explain what you have been about, and what it all means.”

The Uri boy hid himself as well as he could.  Feklitus, half-frightened, half-angry, answered,—­

“We have done nothing.  We are not to blame.  It’s all Oscar’s doing.”

“We don’t know anything about that,” said the man.  “You come along with us.  Our motto is, ‘Taken together, hung together.’” Then he turned to his comrade, and they began to whisper.

Feklitus was as pale as a ghost.

“Did you hear that?  They are going to hang us,” he said, grasping his companion still more tightly.

“Let us run away,” gasped the boy, hardly able to speak for choking.

Feklitus looked at the men; they were in earnest conversation with the miller.  He sprang from the ground; fear gave him unwonted agility.  Down the hill he raced, his hair fairly standing on end with fright, and the Uri boy after him.  Neither looked back to see whether they were pursued, but they thought they heard footsteps behind them.  On they ran—­on, on; at last they separated; one this way, the other that; and then both disappeared.  They had not been followed.