"She is out feeding the hens. I cannot tell what ails her," answered Greta. "I cannot make her keep quiet or speak a word. Do try to see what you can do. Perhaps she will hear you. Where have you been all this thee?" "Gathering news," said Philip. "I did not believe that man's story, and I have been asking my father's comrades about him.—Mother dear, will you come here?" he called, stepping to the door. "I have something to tell you." Philip's voice conveyed perhaps more of hopefulness than he felt. Gertrude came at once into the house, and sat down in the chair which Philip placed for her. Her eyes were still dry and glittering, but her colour changed and she looked less ghastly. "I have been talking with the men," Philip began, without any preface. "That brute's news was not true, or at least not certain. Sergeant Meyer tells me that my father did not desert, but was exchanged into Von Falkenstein's troop of horse, where he was regimental smith." Gertrude drew a deep breath. "That wretch!" said Greta. "I should like to kill him." "Let him alone for a fool," said Philip. "Meyer says that so long as he was with the regiment, my father bore the best character for steadiness and good conduct; that he might have deserted a dozen times over if he had chosen, and as hundreds did, but he was always at his post and ready for duty; that no man could be braver in action, though he always refused to help plunder and kill the poor country-people, and would always protect the women and children when he could; and he believes Burger spited him for that very reason." Gertrude's eyes had grown softer, and now overflowed with grateful tears. "'I' never believed father would do anything dishonourable," said Gustaf, proudly. "He might be killed, but he would never run away." "But you heard no certain news?" said Gertrude. "No. Meyer says the Waldeckers went south after they left Philadelphia, and they never met again. The Waldeckers were in the last great battle—Yorktown, I think they call it—where the great English lord surrendered to the Americans. They came home two months ago, and Colonel von Falkenstein, Meyer says, is living in his own home near Waldeck. With your permission, dear mother, I will go thither, and it will be hard, but I will obtain certain news of my father." "And how will you manage to gain access to him, my son? He is a great man, I suppose." "I have thought of that," answered Philip. "Count von Meyren is Herr von Falkenstein's own cousin, and they are great friends. I am sure he will give me a letter to his cousin when I tell him why I want it. He was always kind to me when I lived in Fulda. And even if I do not see Herr von Falkenstein himself, I shall find plenty of old soldiers who knew my father." "Bless thee, my son! Thou art thy father's own boy, and shalt do as thou wilt," said Gertrude. "Anything is better than this uncertainty. When will you set out?"