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.
Fritz almost died of grief when he found that she did not return; but a few years later he found comfort in marrying Gredel Dich, the miller's daughter, a fine, stout, active girl, who made him an excellent wife; and Catherine, his mother, was quite pleased, for Gredel Dich was quite an heiress!
Only Brémer could not be comforted; he was as fond of Myrtle as if she had been his own child, and he drooped visibly from day to day.
One winter's day when he had got up, and was looking out of the window, he saw a ragged but pretty gipsy girl passing through the village covered with snow, and with a heavy bag upon her shoulders, and sat down again with a deep sigh.
"What is the matter, Brémer?" asked his wife.
There was no answer. She came close. His eyes were closing. There he lay dead.