ght. The French army, led by the Duke de
Broglie and the Count de St Germain, had taken possession of all that
part of the country, and held it in the name of their king. It was
declared a French province, and the inhabitants, helpless and forsaken,
were compelled to acknowledge the French as their masters, and to meet
the taxes which were imposed upon them.

It was a most bitter necessity, and no one felt it more deeply than the
old shepherd Buschman, the father of Charles Henry. He sat, as we first
saw him, on the slope of the field where his flock was grazing, guarded
and kept in order by the faithful Phylax. His eye was not clear and
bright as then, but troubled and sorrowful, and his countenance bore
an expression of the deepest grief. He had no one to whom he could pour
forth his sorrows--no one to comfort him--he was quite alone Even his
youngest son, Charles Henry, the real Charles Henry, had been compelled
to leave him. The recruiting officers of the king had come a short time
before the French troops had taken possession of the province, and had
conscripted the few strong men who were still left in the village of
Brunen.

But this time the men of Brunen had not answered joyfully to the demand.
Even old Buschman had wished to keep his son Charles Henry with him. Had
he not sent six sons to the field of battle, and had they not all died
as heroes? Charles Henry was his last treasure, his one remaining child;
his grief-torn heart clung to him with the deepest devotion. To
be parted from him seemed more bitter than death itself. When the
recruiting officer came into the hut of Buschman and summoned Charles
Henry to follow him as a soldier, the eyes of the old man filled with
tears, and he laid his hands upon the arm of his son as if he feared to
see him instantly torn from his sight.

"Captain," he said, with a trembling voice, "I have sent the king six
sons already; they have all died in his service. Tell me truly, is the
king in great need? If so, take me as well as my son--if not, leave me
my son."

The officer smiled, and extended his hand to the old man. "Keep your
son," he said. "If you have lost six sons in the war, it is right that
you should keep the seventh."

Buschman uttered a cry of joy, and would have embraced his son, but
Charles Henry pushed him gently back, and his father read in his
countenance a determination and energy that he had rarely seen there.

"No, father," he said, "let me go--le