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She had heard it from the baker's wife, whose husband had it from the burgomaster's own mouth And Peter became as pale as death, and sat down again. "Good Heaven! what's the matter with you?" asked his mother. "Nothing, nothing; only leave me to myself," he answered but the tears were running down his cheeks. "My sweet child, my golden treasure!" cried the mother, and she wept; but the Fire-drum sang, not out loud, but inwardly. "Charlotte's gone! Charlotte's gone! and now the song is done."

But the song was not done; there were many more verses in it, long verses, the most beautiful verses, the golden treasures of a life. "She behaves like a mad woman," said the neighbor's wife. "All the world is to see the letters she gets from her golden treasure, and to read the words that are written in the papers about his violin playing. And he sends her money too, and that's very useful to her since she has been a widow." "He plays before emperors and kings," said the town musician.

"He plays before emperors and kings," said the town musician. "I never had that fortune, but he's my pupil, and he does 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.
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