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Updated: June 9, 2025
Then turning, with a kindly expression, to Fritz Kober, he said: "Can you write?" "Not well, your majesty; but Charles Henry Buschman can write much better than I. He is a scholar." "Is that true?" said the king, gayly, to Charles. "He will say 'No, sir king; he cannot bear to be praised.
The king, being convinced of this, sank back once more upon the straw, and listened to Charles Henry Buschman. It was indeed a beautiful fairy tale; so wild and so fantastic that Fritz listened with eyes extended and almost breathless to every word.
"No, Charles Henry; the war must be at an end, and Charles Henry Buschman must have returned a brave soldier, before I can marry him." "You mean," said he, with trembling lips "you mean I must be a soldier?" "As you have said, they will not let you off. You are a strong, healthy youth you are unmarried, and have no one to support, for your father can take care of himself.
Frederick's sharp, piercing eye rested for a moment questioningly upon Charles Henry's face; then nodding his head smilingly several times, he said: "Your bride is a spruce lad and a brave officer, and knows how to blush in his soldier's uniform. Officer Charles Henry Buschman, will you be the wife of officer Fritz Kober?" "I will, if your majesty consents," whispered Charles Henry.
"Marry him!" said the king, amazed; "is, then, officer Buschman " "A woman, your majesty!" interrupted Fritz Kober, with joyful impatience. "He is a woman; his name is Anna Sophia Detzloff, from Brunen."
"I will have nothing that I don't pay for," said Charles Henry, proudly; "I can pay as well as the rest of you, and perhaps I have more money than all of you; for while you are drinking, smoking, and playing, I put my groschens aside for a rainy day." "Yes, that is true; Buschman is the most orderly, the most industrious of us all," said Fritz Kober, as he nodded lovingly to his young friend.
But this time the men of Brunen had not answered joyfully to the demand. Even old Buschman had wished to keep his son Charles Henry with him. Had he not sent six sons to the field of battle, and had they not all died as heroes? Charles Henry was his last treasure, his one remaining child; his grief-torn heart clung to him with the deepest devotion.
A glowing blush suffused Charles Henry's face; he bowed down over his work and sewed on in monstrous haste. Fritz Kober came nearer and bowed so low that he was almost kneeling. "Charles Henry Buschman, will you be my wife?" Charles Henry did not answer; tears and bobs choked his voice, and trembling with emotion he laid his head on Fritz Kober's shoulder.
He sat there a long, long time, struggling with his grief alone with God and his shame. Approaching steps aroused him; he looked up. The village justice stood before him, and gazed at him with a melancholy smile. "I knew I would find you here, Father Buschman, and I came for you. The time is come; we are all assembled on the square awaiting you."
"Well, if the bacon is cut," said the king, smiling, "and if Henry Buschman has promised to make the noodles, he must certainly keep his word; take the wood away with you." "Hurrah! long life to our king and to our good Fritz Kober," cried the soldiers, and, collecting the wood, they hastened away. The king stepped back, silently, into the small, low room of the hut.
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