it seemed as if
all the inhabitants of the village were there. All felt the necessity
of visiting God's house to-day to thank Him for the safe return of their
sons, brothers, and lovers. The twelve boys who had returned were under
the linden in their handsomest Sunday attire. But why did they stand
alone? Why was such a wide space left between them and the other
villagers? Why did the men avoid looking at them? Why did the maidens
step timidly back and remain silent when they approached and tried to
speak with them? Why were they all whispering together, pointing at the
boys and turning their backs upon them when they drew near?

"Leave them alone," whispered one of the boys to the others; "they will
be more friendly this afternoon when the music is playing and the wine
and cake is handed."

"There is my father, and I must go and meet him," said Charles Henry, as
he hastened toward the old man who was approaching the square.

All drew back from Charles Henry, and as he stood opposite his father,
like actors upon the stage they found themselves alone amongst the
spectators, who were gazing at them with breathless expectation.

"Good-morning, father," said Charles Henry, with forced gayety, as he
offered his hand to his father. "You slept so late to-day, and went to
bed so early yesterday, that I have not been able to speak to you since
our first greeting. So I bid you good-morrow now."

The old man looked quietly at him, but he did not take the proffered
hand, and tried to pass him.

"Father," continued Charles Henry, "you must be tired; our hut lies at
the other end of the village, and that is a long walk for your old legs.
Rest yourself on me, father, and allow your son to lead you to church."
He stretched forth his hand to take the old man's arm, but Buschman
pushed it back, and passed him, without looking, without even speaking
to him.

Charles Henry sprang after him. "Father," he cried, "do you not hear me?
Can you--"

The old man did not really appear to hear him, for he walked toward the
village justice with a quiet, unmoved face, as the latter advanced to
meet him.

"Friend," said Buschman, in a loud, firm voice, "I am fatigued with my
walk; will you lend me your arm?"

He leaned heavily upon the offered arm, and walked quickly onward. All
heard these words, but only the justice saw the tears which rolled down
his pale, sunken cheeks.

"You were very harsh, father," murmured the justice, as they wal