“Go to,” said Rudolf, “thou canst see no limb of him: he is no bigger than a flea.” “Here goes for his right eye!” said Otto; and stepping forward in the English manner (which his godfather having learnt in Palestine, had taught him), he brought his bowstring to his ear, took a good aim, allowing for the wind and calculating the parabola to a nicety. Whiz! his arrow went off. He took up the willow-twig again and began carving a head of Rudolf at the other end, chatting and laughing, and singing a ballad the while. The archers, after standing a long time looking skywards with their noses in the air, at last brought them down from the perpendicular to the horizontal position, and said, “Pooh, this lad is a humbug! The arrow's lost; let's go!” “HEADS!” cried Otto, laughing. A speck was seen rapidly descending from the heavens; it grew to be as big as a crown-piece, then as a partridge, then as a tea-kettle, and flop! down fell a magnificent heron to the ground, flooring poor Max in its fall. “Take the arrow out of his eye, Wolfgang,” said Otto, without looking at the bird: “wipe it and put it back into my quiver.” The arrow indeed was there, having penetrated right through the pupil. “Are you in league with Der Freischutz?” said Rudolf, quite amazed. Otto laughingly whistled the “Huntsman's Chorus,” and said, “No, my friend. It was a lucky shot: only a lucky shot. I was taught shooting, look you, in the fashion of merry England, where the archers are archers indeed.” And so he cut off the heron's wing for a plume for his hat; and the archers walked on, much amazed, and saying, “What a wonderful country that merry England must be!” Far from feeling any envy at their comrade's success, the jolly archers recognized his superiority with pleasure; and Wolfgang and Rudolf especially held out their hands to the younker, and besought the honor of his friendship. They continued their walk all day, and when night fell made choice of a good hostel you may be sure, where over beer, punch, champagne, and every luxury, they drank to the health of the Duke of Cleves, and indeed each other's healths all round. Next day they resumed their march, and continued it without interruption, except to take in a supply of victuals here and there (and it was found on these occasions that Otto, young as he was, could eat four times as much as the oldest archer present, and drink to correspond); and these continued refreshments having given them more than ordinary strength, they determined on making rather a long march of it, and did not halt till after nightfall at the gates of the little town of Windeck. What was to be done? the town-gates were shut. “Is there no hostel, no castle where we can sleep?” asked Otto of the sentinel at the gate. “I am so hungry that in lack of better food I think I could eat my grandmamma.”