Golden Treasure

Name value! Fame! The swallows built their nests in the hollow road, in holes in the embankment. Rain crumbled it and washed away all the names, the drummer's and his little son's with them. "However, Peter's name stayed there for a year and a half," said the father.

"Fool!" thought the fire drum, but it only said, "Dr-rum, dr-rum, dr-rum! Dr-rum-a-lum!"

"The drummer's son with the red hair" was a lively and high-spirited boy. He had a lovely voice; he could sing, and sing he did, as does the bird in the forest: all melody and no tune. He ought to be a choirboy," said his mother, "and sing in the church, standing under the pretty gilded angels whom he looks like."

"Fire cat!" said the town wits. The drum heard it from the neighbors.

"Don't go home, Peter," cried the street boys. "If they make you sleep in the attic your hair will set the thatch on fire, and that will start the fire drum."

"Look out for the drumsticks!" retorted Peter; although he was only a little fellow, he was courageous, and threw his fist right into the stomach of the boy nearest him, knocking his legs from under him; and the others took to their legs - their own legs!

The state musician was proud and haughty; he was the son of a royal servant. He liked Peter and took him home with him for hours at a time, gave him a violin and taught him to play; it seemed to show in the boy's fingers that he would become more than a drummer, that he would become a state musician.

"I want to be a soldier," said Peter, for he was still a very small fellow and thought it would be the finest thing in the world to shoulder a gun and to march - "One, two! One, two!" - and to wear a uniform and carry a saber.

"You'll learn to obey the drum! Dr-rum-a-lum! Come, come!" said the drum.

"Yes, you may march ahead to become a general," said the father, "but only if there is a war."

"God save us from that!" said the mother.

"We have nothing to lose!" said the drummer.

"Yes, we have my boy!" said she.

"But when he could come home a general!