“As you please,” replied the other, “but I would fain be home again in good season. The dignitaries of the town will mark my absence from the guests’ room and, doubtless, distinguished persons will have arrived by the time we return. Methinks you are wont to be quick enough in other respects.” “That indeed,” returned Irmy, “and well has my quickness served me in life; wherefore it troubles me the less that I can no longer follow you either with my legs or with my hopes and thoughts.” “Nay, let us not return to the French,” said the innkeeper, “for on that point we shall never agree. I maintain that Switzerland cannot do better than to place herself under the protection of the French crown. Never has the house of Austria dealt fairly by us, nor should we forget what Tell and his companions did for their country.” “True,” replied the magistrate; “but I greatly doubt if we should meet with any better treatment from France than we did from Gessler and his accomplices in those days. Moreover, you must remember ’tis but thirty years since Austria and France formed an alliance against us that might have proved our destruction. You should be ashamed to speak the word ‘France’ on this day, the anniversary of the battle of Saint Jacob. Those who sleep here would turn in their graves, could they hear you talk so. Think you I bear these scars in vain? Never can I forget the wrongs France has inflicted upon our Confederation, and if need be I will prove to her that my arm is still of use, not only to keep account books and handle pepper sacks, but also to smite French helms till the sparks fly.” “Methinks that will scarcely be needful,” answered his companion; “your Walter here is already quite capable of taking your place should occasion demand.” “I should be glad to have him at my side,” said Irmy; “he is a good lad, and it pleases me not a little that he seems to take as kindly to the use of arms as I did in my younger days.” The youths by this time had overtaken them. “Father,” called Walter, “are those vineyards we see over yonder on the hill?” “Truly, my son; and they yield a wine more precious to us Swiss than any in all the world, for upon that hill some of the noblest sons of Switzerland lie buried. From the vines that grow above them is made a wine we call ‘Switzer’s blood’ and drink in remembrance of the battle of Saint Jacob, to honor the fallen and as an inspiration to the present generation to emulate their fathers in courage and devotion to the Fatherland.” “You have often promised to tell us,” said Walter, “what happened thirty years ago, when you were so sorely wounded by the French.” “Come then; let us go up the hill and seat ourselves; from there we shall have a better view of the battle-field,” replied the Councillor. When this had been done he began as follows: