"You fellow yonder, you greenhorn, threw the stone over the roof. I saw
it. Come here. Over the roof? That should be my right. Whoever breaks
the first window in the steeple, shall be victor."

The smith's son felt embarrassed, for he shrank from the mischief and
feared his father and the abbot. But when the young count held out his
closed hands, saying: "If you choose the red stone, you shall throw
first," he pointed to his companion's right hand, and, as it concealed
the red pebble, began the contest. He threw the stone, and struck the
window. Amid loud shouts of exultation from the boys, more than one
round pane of glass, loosened from the leaden casing, rattled in broken
fragments on the church roof, and from thence fell silently on the grass.
Count Lips laughed aloud in his delight, and was preparing to follow
Ulrich's example, but the wooden gate was pushed violently open, and
Brother Hieronymus, the most severe of all the monks, appeared in the
playground. The zealous priest's cheeks glowed with anger, terrible were
the threats he uttered, and declaring that the festival of St. John
should not be celebrated, unless the shameless wretch, who had
blasphemously shattered the steeple window, confessed his fault,
he scanned the pupils with rolling eyes.

Young Count Lips stepped boldly forward, saying beseechingly:

"I did it, Father--unintentionally! Forgive me!"

"You?" asked the monk, his voice growing lower and more gentle, as he
continued: "Folly and wantonness without end! When will you learn
discretion, Count Philipp? But as you did it unintentionally, I will
let it pass for to-day."