Such a wicked expression came into Franz's face, on this, that it made Theresa's blood run cold; and she hastily interrupted the strife by exclaiming, "The miracle-play is just going to begin. Franz, are not you to be the Philistine?" The subject was David and Goliath. Rudolf was David, and Franz (on stilts) Goliath. The subordinate parts were filled by other peasants. Rudolf came in, driving a real donkey, supposed to be laden with the ten cheeses for his brethren's captain; and he questioned about the fight, and answered his brother's rebuke very effectively. Franz mouthed the defiance to Israel extremely well, and straddled and swaggered about like a very Goliath. The Passeyr was very handy to represent the brook that supplied the pebbles; and Rudolf, though he slung the stone near enough to his antagonist to make Franz swerve his head considerably to one side, was at pains not really to hit him. Franz did not know this, however; he thought the pebble was slung unreasonably and maliciously close; therefore, when Rudolf ran up to his prostrate body to make believe to sever his head with the Sandwirth's own sword, Franz hooked his foot round his rival's ankle, and suddenly brought him with violence to the ground. This was so unexpected a catastrophe, that a cry, mingled with laughter, arose from the audience. But Rudolf was not to be so baffled; he clasped his arms strictly round his foe, who already was under him, and writhing, struggling, and rolling, they twisted one another about till Rudolf finally got his antagonist to the water's edge, and soused him in the Passeyr. Whereupon there naturally ensued a clamour of laughter and applause; and the victor was tumultuously greeted; while the drenched giant slunk moodily out of sight. Rudolf now triumphantly mounted the stilts, and strode round the green; but Hofer, who had played King Saul, and who liked a joke as well as any one, aimed a large turnip so well at the right stilt, that Rudolf was suddenly laid prostrate. As his encumbrances effectually prevented his rising, (the ends being seized by several little boys, and big ones too,) he lay quite at the mercy of the public, especially of Theresa, who sang a requiem over him, much in the style of "Who killed cock robin?" Who killed poor David? Can this be he who late was seen The pride of every village-green? Alas, poor David! Who fetched him down? On lordly stilts we saw him stride A season brief, too swollen with pride-- Alas, poor David! Take warning, all with pride elate, Behold this hapless youngster's fate; A turnip vile has cracked his pate. Alas, poor David!