The condition of the families whose heads had been taken away was of course very pitiable. Even when, as in the case of Caspar Reinhart's household, there was no lack of bread, there were long weeks and months and years of slow, sickening suspense and anxiety. Many of the men did not know how to write or had no means of writing, and those who were able sent home reports which were anything but encouraging. It was commonly reported among them that the American soldiers gave no quarter, that they were more cruel and vindictive than the Indians themselves, killing without mercy all the prisoners who fell into their hands. These reports were no idle rumours picked up at second hand: they were deliberate lies fabricated and circulated by the British and German officers among their ignorant troops. The Hessians who were taken prisoners were utterly astonished to find themselves treated with kindness both by their captors and the people of the country. Caspar Reinhart had been the owner of a little farm adjoining the village of Nonnenwald. He kept a few cows, some sheep and goats, and cultivated some fields of rye and oats, while a warm and sheltered corner of the domain held a flourishing orchard of apple and cherry trees. The profits of his farm, which, with all his industry and Gertrude's economy, were not large, were greatly increased by his trade of blacksmith and wheelwright. Nobody could shoe a restive horse or tame a wild and frightened colt so well in all the district, and lame and disabled carts and wagons were brought to him from far and near. He also possessed considerable skill as a carver; which skill he practised by the fire in the long winter evenings, making wooden bowls and spoons and heads for spinning-wheels, and he had made a memorial tablet to his mother which was an ornament to the little church and the object of admiration to all the village. But his forge was silent and falling to pieces, his carving-tools lay hidden in the cupboard of Philip's bedroom. Only a few sheep and two cows remained of his stock, and the orchard was suffering for want of the master's hand, for Caspar was away in America, and his wife had heard no word from him for three long years. Gertrude remained for a moment or two standing where her visitor had left her. The children looked on from their corner, hardly knowing whether to be terrified or relieved by their mother's burst of weeping. Presently she wiped her eyes and turned to them: "Philip and Margaret, you may go and drive up the cows and sheep, lest the wolves should come down again. Take Gustaf with you, and do not remain out after sunset." Gertrude's least word was law to the children, and without speaking a word they hastened to obey. The cattle were soon secured in the strong and high enclosure near the house made to protect them in winter. This done, Margaret, stole up softly and peeped through the window of the cottage.