“I will go myself!” said Carl to himself one day, “or she will die with grief!”

Without saying a word to anybody about the matter, for fear that he would not be allowed to go, he stole out of the house in the gray of the morning, while all were asleep, and, making his way to the open road, he turned in the direction from whence, at times, had come the sound of the cannon.  As long as he was in the part of the road that he knew, he kept up a stout heart, but when he left that he began to grow frightened.  The road was so lonely, and strange sounds seemed to come out of the forest that stretched away, so black and thick, on each side!  He wondered if any fierce beasts were there, or if robbers were lurking behind the rocks.  But he thought of the beautiful lady, his kind friend, sick and dying, and that thought was more powerful than his fear.  At noon he rested for awhile, and ate a few dry biscuits he had put in his pockets.

It was near sunset when he saw that the trees stood less closely together, the road looked more travel-worn, and there came with the wind a confused and continuous noise.  Then Carl was seized with terror.  “I am now near the camp,” he thought.  “Suppose a battle is going on, and I am struck with a ball.  I shall die, and father and little Greta will not know what became of me, and the beautiful lady will never know that I died in her service!  Or if I meet a soldier, and he don’t believe my story, maybe he’ll run a bayonet through me!”

It was not too late then to turn back and flee swiftly up the forest road, and Carl paused.

But in a few moments he went on, animated by the noblest kind of courage—­that which feels there is danger, but is determined to face it in the cause of duty, affection, and humanity.

At last he stepped out of the forest, and there, before him, was spread out the vast encampment of the army!  There was not time to wonder at the sight before he was challenged by a sentinel.  Carl had made up his mind what to say, and that he would not mention the lady.  So he promptly replied that he wanted to see a noble lord who had a sick friend at a cottage in the forest.

As the boy could not tell the name or rank of the noble lord, the sentinel sent him to an officer, and to him Carl told the same story, but he described the man of whom he was in search so accurately that the officer sent him at once to the proper person.  And Carl found that he was a very great personage indeed, and held a high command in the army.  He did not recognize Carl, but as soon as the boy told his errand he became very much agitated.

“I will go at once,” he said; “but I cannot leave you here, my brave boy!  Can you ride?”

Now Carl knew how to sit on a horse, and how to hold the bridle, for he had ridden the wood-cutters’ horses sometimes, so he answered that he thought he could ride.  The Duke (for such was his title) ordered some refreshments set before the boy, and then went out to make his arrangements, choosing his gentlest horse for Carl.