not forget
his old master."

And his mother said,

"His father dreamt that Peter came home from the war with a silver
cross. He did not gain one in the war, but it is still more
difficult to gain one in this way. Now he has the cross of honor. If
his father had only lived to see it!"

"He's grown famous!" said the Fire-drum, and all his native town
said the same thing, for the drummer's son, Peter with the red
hair--Peter whom they had known as a little boy, running about in
wooden shoes, and then as a drummer, playing for the dancers--was
become famous!

"He played at our house before he played in the presence of
kings," said the burgomaster's wife. "At that time he was quite
smitten with Charlotte. He was always of an aspiring turn. At that
time he was saucy and an enthusiast. My husband laughed when he
heard of the foolish affair, and now our Charlotte is a state
councillor's wife."

A golden treasure had been hidden in the heart and soul of the
poor child, who had beaten the roll as a drummer--a roll of victory
for those who had been ready to retreat. There was a golden treasure
in his bosom, the power of sound; it burst forth on his violin as if
the instrument had been a complete organ, and as if all the elves of a
midsummer night were dancing across the strings. In its sounds were
heard the piping of the thrush and the full clear note of the human
voice; therefore the sound brought rapture to every heart, and carried
his name triumphant through the land. That was a great firebrand--the
firebrand of inspiration.

"And then he looks so splendid!" said the young ladies and the old
ladies too; and the oldest of all procured an album for famous locks
of hair, wholly and solely that she might beg a lock of his rich
splendid hair, that treasure, that golden treasure.

And the son came into the poor room of the drummer, elegant as a
prince, happier than a king. His eyes were as clear and his face was
as radiant as sunshine; and he held his mother in his arms, and she
kissed his mouth, and wept as blissfully as any one can weep for
joy; and he nodded at every old piece of furniture in the room, at the
cupboard with the tea-cups, and at the flower-vase. He nodded at the
sleeping-bench, where he had slept as a little boy; but the old
Fire-drum he brought out, and dragged it into the middle of the
room, and said to it and to his mother:

"My father would have beaten a famous roll this evening. Now I
must do it!"