at least, a far more interesting personage than an old official mill-horse like Uncle Frederick.
Hans now went about and gathered up the gloves and other small objects which the generals, in the heat of the fight, had scattered over the battle-field to mark the positions; and, as he did so, he stumbled upon old Blücher. He picked him up and examined him carefully.
He was a hard lump of granite, knubbly as sugar-candy, which almost seemed to bear a personal resemblance to "Feldtmarschall Vorwärts." Hans turned to the captain with a polite bow.
"Will you allow me, captain, to keep this stone. It will be the best possible memento of this interesting and instructive conversation, for which I am really most grateful to you." And thereupon he put Blücher into his coat-tail pocket.
The captain assured him that it had been a real pleasure to him to observe the interest with which his young friend had followed the exposition. And this was nothing but the truth, for he was positively enraptured with Cousin Hans.
"Come and sit down now, young man. We deserve a little rest after a ten-hours' battle," he added, smiling.
Cousin Hans seated himself on the bench and felt his collar with some anxiety. Before coming out, he had put on the most fascinating one his wardrobe afforded. Fortunately, it had retained its stiffness; but he felt the force of Wellington's
