Their faces brightened more and more, none belonging to them were
dead. Suddenly Anna paused, and uttered a low cry, then looked at
Father Buschman with a terrified expression. Perhaps the old man
understood her, for he trembled a little, and his head fell upon his
breast, but he raised it proudly again. Looking almost commandingly
at Anna, he said,

"Read on, my daughter."

But Anna could not read. The paper trembled in her hand, and her
face was pale as death.

"Read on," repeated the old man--"read on, I, your father, command
you to read!"

Anna sighed deeply. "I will obey," she said, and casting a glance of
inexpressible sorrow at the old man, two new names fell from her
lips and tears to consecrate them. "Anton Buschman, Frederick
Buschman," and then taking advantage of the breathless stillness,
she added, "The two brothers were the first to attack the enemy--
they died the death of heroes!" She ceased. The paper dropped from
her trembling hands and fell at the old man's feet.

The weeping eyes of the crowd were turned upon old Buschman. As if
crushed by the storm, he had staggered to the bench; he bowed his
head upon his breast that no one might see the expression of his
face; his trembling hands clasped on his knees, made a touching
picture of silent sorrow.

His son Henry, who had been standing with the others, stepped softly