Then she remembered what she had never taken the trouble to think of before, some words of the _cure_, Niclausse about the birds of the air that God provided for, and the lilies of the field that were more beautiful than the glory of Solomon, and she remembered the lesson about not being anxious for food and clothing, and thought that that would just suit her, for she did not think of any of the teaching of the same great Teacher about industry, and frugality, and living honestly, and so she came to the satisfying conclusion that the true heathens were Catherine and all her people, who were so foolish and wicked as to plough, and sow, and reap, while she was the good Christian, because she was as idle as the day was long. She was still dwelling on these satisfactory deductions when there was a sudden rustling among the dead leaves and a noise of footsteps. She was going to run away when a gipsy lad of eighteen or twenty appeared before her--a tall, lithe, dark fellow with thick woolly hair, shining black eyes, and thick parted lips. His eyes glittered as he cried-- "Almani!" "Almani!" replied Myrtle, moved with much interest. "Ha, ha!" cried the lad, "what gang do you go with?" "I don't know--I am looking for it." And without any concealment she told him how Bremer had found her and brought her up, and how she had escaped yesterday from his house. The young gipsy grinned, and showed a long double row of white teeth. "I am going to Hazlach," he cried. "To-morrow there's a _fete_ there; our band will all be there--Pfiffer Karl, Melchior, Blue-Titmouse, Fritz the clarionet, Coucou-Peter, and Magpie. The women are going fortune-telling, and we play the music. If you like, you may go with me." "I will," said Myrtle, looking down. Then he kissed her, laid his bag upon her back, and grasping his stick in both his hands, he cried-- "Now you are my wife! You will carry the bag for me, and I will keep you. Forward!" And now Myrtle, lazy as she had always been at the farm, started off with all possible willingness. He followed her, singing, and tumbling over on his hands and feet to express his joy! From that day Myrtle has never been heard of. Fritz almost died of grief when he found that she did not return; but a few years later he found comfort in marrying Gredel Dich, the miller's daughter, a fine, stout, active girl, who made him an excellent wife; and Catherine, his mother, was quite pleased, for Gredel Dich was quite an heiress! Only Bremer could not be comforted; he was as fond of Myrtle as if she had been his own child, and he drooped visibly from day to day. One winter's day when he had got up, and was looking out of the window, he saw a ragged but pretty gipsy girl passing through the village covered with snow, and with a heavy bag upon her shoulders, and sat down again with a deep sigh. "What is the matter, Bremer?" asked his wife. There was no answer. She came close. His eyes were closing. There he lay dead.