thefire-drumandalltheotherdrumswerebeating,forwarhadcome.thesoldiersallsetout,andthesonofthedrummerfollowedthem."red-head.goldentreasure!"

themotherwept;thefatherinfancysawhim"famous;"thetownmusicianwasofopinionthatheoughtnottogotowar,butshouldstayathomeandlearnmusic.

"red-head,"saidthesoldiers,andlittlepeterlaughed;butwhenoneofthemsometimessaidtoanother,"foxey,"hewouldbitehisteethtogetherandlookanotherway-intothewideworld.hedidnotcareforthenickname.

theboywasactive,pleasantofspeech,andgood-humored;thatisthebestcanteen,saidhisoldcomrades.

andmanyanighthehadtosleepundertheopensky,wetthroughwiththedrivingrainorthefallingmist;buthisgoodhumorneverforsookhim.thedrum-stickssounded,"rub-a-dub,allup,allup!"yes,hewascertainlyborntobeadrummer.

thedayofbattledawned.thesunhadnotyetrisen,butthemorningwascome.theairwascold,thebattlewashot;therewasmistintheair,butstillmoregunpowder-smoke.thebulletsandshellsflewoverthesoldiers'heads,andintotheirheads-intotheirbodiesandlimbs;butstilltheypressedforward.hereorthereoneorotherofthemwouldsinkonhisknees,withbleedingtemplesandafaceaswhiteaschalk.thelittledrummerstillkepthishealthycolor;hehadsufferednodamage;helookedcheerfullyatthedogoftheregiment,whichwasjumpingalongasmerrilyasifthewholethinghadbeengotupforhisamusement,andasifthebulletswereonlyflyingaboutthathemighthaveagameofplaywiththem.

"march!forward!march!"this,wasthewordofcommandforthedrum.thewordhadnotyetbeengiventofallback,thoughtheymighthavedoneso,andperhapstherewouldhavebeenmuchsenseinit;andnowatlasttheword"retire"wasgiven;butourlittledrummerbeat"forward!march!"forhehadunderstoodthecommandthus,andthesoldiersobeyedthesoundofthedrum.thatwasagoodroll,andprovedthesummonstovictoryforthemen,whohadalreadybeguntogiveway.

lifeandlimbwerelostinthebattle.bombshellstoreawaythefleshinredstrips;bombshellslitupintoaterribleglowthestrawheapstowhichthewoundedhaddraggedthemselves,tolieuntendedformanyhours,perhapsforallthehourstheyhadtolive.

it'snousethinkingofit;andyetonecannothelpthinkingofit,evenfarawayinthepeacefultown.thedrummerandhiswifealsothoughtofit,forpeterwasatthewar.

"now,i'mtiredofthesecomplaints,"saidthefire-drum.

againthedayofbattledawned;thesunhadnotyetrisen,butitwasmorning.thedrummerandhiswifewereasleep.theyhadbeentalkingabouttheirson,as,indeed,theydidalmosteverynight,forhewasoutyonderingod'shand.andthefatherdreamtthatthewarwasover,thatthesoldiershadreturnedhome,andthatpeterworeasilvercrossonhisbreast.butthemotherdreamtthatshehadgoneintothechurch,andhadseenthepaintedpicturesandthecarvedangelswiththegildedhair,andherowndearboy,thegoldentreasureofherheart,whowasstandingamongtheangelsinwhiterobes,singingsosweetly,assurelyonlytheangelscansing;andthathehadsoaredupwiththemintothesunshine,andnoddedsokindlyathismother.

"mygoldentreasure!"shecriedout;andsheawoke."nowthegoodgodhastakenhimtohimself!"shefoldedherhands,andhidherfaceinthecottoncurtainsofthebed,andwept."wheredoesherestnow?