FREDERICK. Good heavens! Here is my little money, take it all! Oh mother! mother! [_Runs to the inn_]. Landlord! Landlord! [_knocking violently at the door._] LANDLORD. What is the matter? FREDERICK. A bottle of wine—quick, quick! LANDLORD. [_surprised_]. A bottle of wine! For who? FREDERICK. For me. Why do you ask? Why don’t you make haste? LANDLORD. Well, well, Mr. soldier: but can you pay for it? FREDERICK. Here is money—make haste, or I’ll break every window in your house. LANDLORD. Patience! Patience! [_goes off._ FREDERICK. [_to Agatha_]. You were hungry yesterday when I sat down to a comfortable dinner. You were hungry when I partook of a good supper. Oh! Why is so much bitter mixed with the joy of my return? AGATHA. Be patient, my dear Frederick. Since I see you, I am well. But I _have been_ very ill: so ill, that I despaired of ever beholding you again. FREDERICK. Ill, and I was not with you? I will, now, never leave you more. Look, mother, how tall and strong I am grown. These arms can now afford you support. They can, and shall, procure you subsistence. [Landlord _coming out of the house with a small pitcher._] LANDLORD. Here is wine—a most delicious nectar. [_Aside._] It is only Rhenish; but it will pass for the best old Hock. FREDERICK. [_impatiently snatching the pitcher_]. Give it me. LANDLORD. No, no—the money first. One shilling and two-pence, if you please. [Frederick _gives him money._] FREDERICK. This is all I have.—Here, here, mother. [_While she drinks_ Landlord _counts the money._] LANDLORD. Three halfpence too short! However, one must be charitable. [_Exit_ Landlord. AGATHA. I thank you, my dear Frederick—Wine revives me—Wine from the hand of my son gives me almost a new life. FREDERICK. Don’t speak too much, mother.—Take your time. AGATHA. Tell me, dear child, how you have passed the five years since you left me. FREDERICK. Both good and bad, mother. To day plenty—to-morrow not so much—And sometimes nothing at all. AGATHA. You have not written to me this long while. FREDERICK. Dear mother, consider the great distance I was from you!—And then, in the time of war, how often letters miscarry.—Besides—— AGATHA. No matter now I see you. But have you obtained your discharge? FREDERICK. Oh, no, mother—I have leave of absence only for two months; and that for a particular reason. But I will not quit you so soon, now I find you are in want of my assistance. AGATHA. No, no, Frederick; your visit will make me so well, that I shall in a very short time recover strength to work again; and you must return to your regiment when your furlough is expired. But you told me leave of absence was granted you for a particular reason.—What reason?