one, and a voice so
soft, so low that she took it for her own, is heard saying, "Dearest
mistress, I love to rock your babe, because I am myself a babe." Her
heart beats, and yet she takes courage a little. The innocence of the
cradle gives this spirit also an innocent air, causing her to believe
it good, gentle, suffered at least by God.

From that day forth she is no longer alone. She readily feels its
presence, and it is never far from her. It rubs her gown, and she
hears the grazing. It rambles momently about her, and plainly cannot
leave her side. If she goes to the stable, it is there; and she
believes that the other day it was in the churn.[23]

[23] This is a favourite haunt of the little rogue's. To this
day the Swiss, knowing his tastes, make him a present of some
milk. His name among them is _troll_ (_drole_); among the
Germans _kobold_, _nix_. In France he is called _follet_,
_goblin_, _lutin_; in England, _Puck_, _Robin Goodfellow_.
Shakespeare says, he does sleepy servants the kindness to
pinch them black and blue, in order to rouse them.

Pity she cannot take it up and look at it! Once, when she suddenly
touched the brands, she fancied she saw the tricksy little thing
tumbling about in the sparks; another time she missed catching it in a
rose. Small as it is, it works, sweeps, arranges, saves her a thousand
cares.

It has its faults, however; is giddy, bold, and if she did not hold it
fast, might perhaps shake itself free. It observes and listens too
much. It repeats sometimes of a morning some little word she had
whispered very, very softly on going to bed, when the light was put
out. She knows it to be very indiscreet, exceedingly curious. She is
irked with feeling herself always followed about, complains of it, and
likes complaining. Sometimes, having threatened him and turned him
off, she feels herself quite at ease. But just then she finds herself
caressed by a light breathing, as it were a bird's wing. He was under
a leaf. He laughs: his gentle voice, free from mocking, declares the
joy he felt in taking his chaste young mistress by surprise. On her
making a show of great wrath, "No, my darling, my little pet," says
the monkey, "you are not a bit sorry to have me here."

She feels ashamed and dares say nothing more. But she guesses now that
she loves him overmuch. She has scruples about it, and loves him yet
more. All night she seems to feel him creeping up to her b