"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 Brémer 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 _fête_ 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.