"Where shall I hit him?" said Otto.
"Go to," said Rudolf, "thou canst see no limb of him: he is no bigger
than a flea."
"Here goes for his right eye!" said Otto; and stepping forward in the
English manner (which his godfather having learnt in Palestine, had
taught him), he brought his bowstring to his ear, took a good aim,
allowing for the wind and calculating the parabola to a nicety. Whiz!
his arrow went off.
He took up the willow-twig again and began carving a head of Rudolf at
the other end, chatting and laughing, and singing a ballad the while.
The archers, after standing a long time looking skywards with their
noses in the air, at last brought them down from the perpendicular to
the horizontal position, and said, "Pooh, this lad is a humbug! The
arrow's lost; let's go!"
"HEADS!" cried Otto, laughing. A speck was seen rapidly descending from
the heavens; it grew to be as big as a crown-piece, then as a partridge,
then as a tea-kettle, and flop! down fell a magnificent heron to the
ground, flooring poor Max in its fall.
"Take the arrow out of his eye, Wolfgang," said Otto, without looking at
the bird: "wipe it and put it back into my quiver."
The arrow indeed was there, having penetrated right through the pupil.
"Are you in league with Der Freischutz?" said Rudolf, quite amazed.
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