Private William Baum, of the Prussian army, as he stood peering into the darkness, was almost wishing that the Austrians and Russians, whose camp-fires he could see along the other side of the valley, would make an attack, and give him something else to do than shiver in the wet. But they did not; and Baum, growing colder and wetter every minute, wished himself back in his snug little apple-orchard at the foot of the Giant Mountains, where he used to be in bed every night before the village clock tolled ten, after a good supper of brown bread and cabbage.

“If the king had to be out in a night of this sort,” he said aloud, “he’d soon be as tired of war as I am.”

“And how do you know he hasn’t?” broke in a sharp voice, close beside him.

At once Baum was himself again. The first sign of a stranger approaching his post recalled him to his duty as a soldier.

His musket was at his shoulder in a moment, and his voice rang out clear and stern,—

“Stand! Who goes there?”

“A friend,” replied the unknown.

“Advance, friend, and give the pass-word.”

“‘The Prussian eagle.’”

“Pass, friend; all’s well.”

But instead of passing on, the stranger came close up to the sentry, who could just make out by a stray gleam of moonlight, that his visitor was wrapped in a horseman’s cloak, and had a hat drawn over his eyes in such a way as to hide his face.

“You seem to have rather damp quarters here, comrade,” said he. “Why don’t you have a smoke to warm yourself a bit?”

“Smoke!” replied the sentry. “Why, where do you come from, brother, not to know that smoking on duty is forbidden?”

“But suppose the king gave you leave to smoke?” said the stranger.

“The king!” answered the soldier, gruffly. “What would my captain say? Long before the king could hear of it, the drummer’s cane would make acquaintance with my back.”

“Pooh! the captain’s not here to see you. Out with your pipe, man. I’ll tell no tales.”

“Look here, you rascal!” cried the soldier, in an angry tone, “I half suspect you’re some fellow who wants to get me into trouble. Now, if that’s so, you had better be off before worse comes of it; for if you say any more, I’ll give you a cuff you won’t like.”

“I’d like to see you try it,” said the other, with a laugh.

The soldier’s only reply was a blow which sent the stranger’s battered old hat flying into the air, while he himself staggered back several paces.

“Very good,” said he, recovering himself, and speaking in quite a different tone. “You’ll hear of this to-morrow, my man, and get what you deserve, never fear. Goodnight to you.”

He stooped as he spoke, and picking up something from the ground, vanished into the darkness.

The sudden change in his unknown visitor’s tone and manner, and his parting threat, caused some uneasiness to Baum. He began to fear that he had insulted an officer of high rank—a colonel at the very least, perhaps even a general.

“However,” thought he, “he doesn’t know my name, that’s one comfort; and he won’t find it very easy to describe the spot where I was posted, seeing that the night is so dark.”

But the next moment he gave a terrible start, for he had just missed his tobacco-pouch, which usually hung at his belt; and he remembered having seen the stranger pick up something as he went off. It must have been the pouch, and his name was upon it in full.

There was not much sleep for poor Baum that night, although he was relieved from guard half an hour later. He tried to keep up his courage by telling himself over and over again that the general could hardly punish him for obeying orders; but even this did not comfort him much, for in those days there were very few things which a general could not do to a private soldier.

The next morning, sure enough, a corporal and four men came to conduct Private William Baum to headquarters; and when he got there, he found all the generals standing around a little, lean, bright-eyed man, in a very shabby dress, whom Baum knew at once to be the king himself—Frederick the Great of Prussia.

“Gentlemen,” said Frederick, and with a sharp glance at the unlucky sentry, “what does a Prussian soldier deserve, who strikes his king?”

“Death,” answered the generals with one voice.

“Good!” said Frederick. “Here is the man.” And he held out a tobacco-pouch marked with the name of “William Baum.”

“Mercy, sire, mercy!” cried Baum, falling on his knees. “I never thought it was Your Majesty with whom I was speaking.”

“No, I don’t suppose you did,” said the king, clapping him on the shoulder; “and I hope all my soldiers will obey orders as well as you do. I said you should get what you deserve, and so you shall; for I’ll make you a sergeant this very day.”

And the king kept his word.—Selected.

He has enough who is content.