airs they carried her at
last, into the street, and out through the town gate. On and on she
danced, for dance she must, straight out into the gloomy wood. Up among
the trees something glistened. She thought it was the round, red moon,
for she saw a face; but no, it was the old soldier with the red beard,
who sat and nodded, saying, "See what pretty dancing shoes!"

She was dreadfully frightened and tried to throw away the red shoes, but
they clung fast and she could not unclasp them. They seemed to have
grown fast to her feet. So dance she must, and dance she did, over field
and meadow, in rain and in sunshine, by night and by day--and by night
it was by far more dreadful.

She danced out into the open churchyard, but the dead there did not
dance; they were at rest and had much better things to do. She would
have liked to sit down on the poor man's grave, where the bitter tansy
grew, but for her there was no rest.

[Illustration: She danced past the open church door....]

She danced past the open church door, and there she saw an angel in long
white robes and with wings that reached from his shoulders to the
earth. His look was stern and grave, and in his hand he held a broad,
glittering sword.

"Thou shalt dance," he said, "in thy red shoes, till thou art pale and
cold, and till thy body is wasted like a skeleton. Thou shalt dance from
door to door, and wherever proud, haughty children dwell thou shalt
knock, that, hearing thee, they may take warning. Dance thou
shalt--dance on!"

"Mercy!" cried Karen; but she did not hear the answer of the angel, for
the shoes carried her past the door and on into the fields.

One morning she danced past a well-known door. Within was the sound of a
psalm, and presently a coffin strewn with flowers was borne out. She
knew that her friend, the old lady, was dead, and in her heart she felt
that she was abandoned by all on earth and condemned by God's angel in
heaven.

Still on she danced--for she could not stop--through thorns and briers,
while her feet bled. Finally, she danced to a lonely little house where
she knew that the executioner dwelt, and she tapped at the window,
saying, "Come out, come out! I cannot come in, for I must dance."

The man said, "Do you know who I am and what I do?"

"Yes," said Karen; "but do not strike off my head, for then I could not
live to repent of my sin. Strike off my feet, that I may be rid of my
red shoes."

Then she confessed her sin,