'They cannot help,' said Jacobina. 'Gustav and Karl write not in the book; they free to go. Wilhelmina marry Jacob; it's joost the same; all r-r-ight,' added Jacobina, who prided herself upon her English, caught from visitors at the Wirthshaus table. 'Ah! but it is not just the same,' I thought as I walked up to the garden to find my little maiden. She was not there; the leathery mother said she was out on the hills with the cows. 'So Gustav is going to leave the Community,' I said in German. 'Yes, better so. He is an idle, wild boy. Now Veelhelmeeny can marry the baker, a good steady man.' 'But Mina does not like him,' I suggested. 'Das macht nichts,' answered the leathery mother. Wilhelmina was not in the pasture; I sought for her everywhere, and called her name. The poor child had hidden herself, and whether she heard me or not she did not respond. All day she kept herself aloof; I almost feared she would never return; but in the late twilight a little figure slipped through the garden-gate and took refuge in the house before I could speak; for I was watching for the child, apparently the only one, though a stranger, to care for her sorrow. 'Can I not see her?' I said to the leathery mother, following to the door. 'Eh, no; she's foolish; she will not speak a word; she has gone off to bed,' was the answer. For three days I did not see Mina, so early did she flee away to the hills and so late return. I followed her to the pasture once or twice, but she would not show herself, and I could not discover her hiding place. The fourth day I learned that Gustav and Karl were to leave the village in the afternoon, probably forever. The other soldiers had signed the articles presented by the anxious trustees, and settled down into the old routine, going afield with the rest, although still heroes of the hour; they were all to be married in August. No doubt the hardships of their campaigns among the Tennessee mountains had taught them that the rich valley was a home not to be despised; nevertheless, it was evident that the flowers of the flock were those who were about departing, and that in Gustav and Karl the Community lost its brightest spirits. Evident to us; but possibly, the Community cared not for bright spirits. I had made several attempts to speak to Gustav; this morning I at last succeeded. I found him polishing his bugle on the garden bench. 'Why are you going away, Gustav?' I asked. 'Zoar is a pleasant little village.' 'Too slow for me, miss.' 'The life is easy, however; you will find the world a hard place.' 'I don't mind work, ma'am, but I do like to be free. I feel all cramped up here, with these rules and bells; and, besides, I couldn't stand those trustees; they never let a fellow alone.' 'And Wilhelmina? If you do go, I hope you will take her with you or come for her when you have found work.' 'Oh no, miss. All that was long ago. It's all over now.' 'But you like her, Gustav.'