e too much to let me
go!" He tried to embrace her, but she waved him off.

"No," said she, "I will not marry you, but, still, you must not join the
army; for if you became a deserter, it would break your father's heart,
and it would be a disgrace, not only for me, but for the whole village.
Think well over what you have said. Perhaps you are mistaken in
yourself, and only dislike joining the army on your poor father's
account. Question your conscience and your heart, and remember, Charles
Henry, that God will hear your answer. Do you truly believe that you are
wanting in courage--that you would fly from the battle-field?"

"As truly as there is a God above us, I believe it, Anna Sophia. It is
not belief, it is certainty. It is not in my nature to be brave; I was
not brought up to it, and am therefore without it. I am an apt farmer,
but would be a bad soldier."

Anna Sophia sighed deeply, and covered her face with her hands. Thus
she stood for some time in front of her betrothed, and he saw the
large tears, stealing through her fingers, fall upon the grass, to be
transformed there by the sun into sparkling jewels.

"Why do you weep, Anna Sophia?" asked he, gently. "What has so suddenly
made you sad?"

Her hands fell slowly and wearily from her face. "I am not weeping now,"
said she, "it is past--I have shed my last tear. Now we must settle upon
what is to be done, for you cannot be a soldier."

"But they will force me," said he, "for I am tall, strong, and
healthy--just the build for a soldier."

Anna Sophia raised herself proudly and stood beside him. "I am as tall
as you," said she.

"It is true," replied Charles Henry, laughing, "we are of the same
height. We can scarcely fail to have tall, good-looking children some of
these days!"

She shrugged her shoulders slightly, and looked at him in a strange
manner. "I am as strong and as healthy as you," said she, "my sight is
as sharp, my hand as sure. Were I Charles Henry Buschman, I would be
a good soldier, for I have courage--I would lot tremble at the
cannon-balls."

"But, fortunately, you are not a man," said Charles Henry, laughing.
"You are the beautiful Anna Sophia, who is this day to become my wife to
save me from being a soldier."

"No, Charles Henry; the war must be at an end, and Charles Henry
Buschman must have returned a brave soldier, before I can marry him."

"You mean," said he, with trembling lips--"you mean I must be a
soldier?"

"As you