"True; but the moment, though close at hand, is not quite come. In a day or two, perhaps, you will receive a little billet inscribed '_'Tis time_'--the whole country will be up directly!" "Come, I'll try _my_ hand at the rifle this moment!" cried the old man, throwing aside his stick, and hastening towards the crowd. He was known and respected--they made way for him. "Old Spickbart is going to try a shot!" cried Franz to Rudolf--"What sport! I'll bet you a quart of brandy he don't hit the target at all!" The good man's hand shook so that his ball only hit the outer circle. "I'll try again," said he. "Yes, do," said the Sandwirth kindly; and looking round him as he spoke. There was not a smile, except on the face of Franz. "You and I used often to shoot together," said Hofer. "Now then. Don't be in a hurry." This time Spickbart hit the bull's eye. He was much applauded, and looked greatly elated. "Ah, I thought I could!" said he, wagging his head. "The fault was only in my hand; not in my eye.--Now, you, Hofer." "No, no," said Hofer. "Oh yes, Sandwirth! Please, Sandwirth!" cried many voices. "You silly boys," said he, looking about for his own rifle; "what do you want me to play with you for?" A feather from some hat lay at his feet. He picked it up and gave it to Rudolf. "There, go and hold it up fifty paces beyond the target." "Rather you than me," said Franz with a shrug, as Rudolf walked off. "I'm not a bit afraid," said Rudolf. He had no need to be. Crack went the rifle; puff went the feather. There it lay, in two little fragments; Rudolf's finger and thumb unhurt. "Well--that was the coolest thing!" ejaculated Franz, as the hills rang with acclamations. "Yes, he's cool enough, that lad; without any brag," said Hofer, quietly putting down his piece. "Franz was not thinking of _him_," said Speckbacher, grasping his friend's hand. "I _was_," said Hofer softly. "I've tested the boy." Speckbacher gave him a quick look. "He stood fire well." "Yes, and expects no notice taken of it. Did it never occur to you that William Tell's little son was as brave as William Tell?" "Never till this minute! Do you hear that, Anderl?" Speckbacher's little son pressed his hand, and then stroked it, looking up in his father's face. "I should not have minded having the apple set on my head for _you_ to shoot at, father." "Would not you, my little boy?" And Speckbacher's brown hand fondly stroked the boy's brown curls. The sun was now nearly set. Hofer, as the best shot, was carried round the ground, with flags, songs, and garlands; and another target added as a trophy to those on his already honoured walls. He and Speckbacher had pretty well ascertained whom they could depend on; a few more earnest words spoken, and they were all on their way to their homes. Hofer re-entered the house, with his hand on Rudolf's shoulder.