taken ill in the night. They were not sure how to go about it. To take cold seemed the surest way. But exactly how could they catch cold? By getting their feet wet, of course. And so, when every one was asleep, after having dipped their feet into a basin they sat on the window-sill in their nightgowns, sticking their wet feet out into the cool night. After this they went to bed to await the expected results.
"Gerold, are you sick?"
Little Hänsli jumped out of bed, his eyes dazzled by the morning sun.
"Oh hang, I'm afraid I'm not. Are you?"
"I feel all right. I haven't even a headache."
All hope was gone. Not a ray was left. Despair fell upon them and filled their hearts with anger against the whole world. They began to berate each other for not getting sick, and their rage culminated in a desperate fight, in which they stamped on each other's feet, and clutched each other by the hair, each trying to push the other up against the wall and hold him there.
Soon Gerold was badly scratched and Hänsli's nose was bleeding. But they had worked off their fury, and the sight of the washbasin lying broken on the floor calmed them completely. In perfect amity they helped each other to dress; Gerold laced the pleated shirt of the little infantry soldier's uniform, and Hänsli buckled on the sword belt of his brother, who was a cannoneer. This last was a laborious undertaking, for Gerold had become considerably plumper during the holidays. At last, dressed and booted and very proud of their fine uniforms, they put on their tasselled shakoes and drawing them over their eyes, stepped out into the hall with shouts of
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