ood word again if you don't
go to the dance today. Come--sit down, and I will get you ready."

Barefoot felt herself flushing crimson as she sat there while her
mistress dressed her and brushed her hair away from her face and turned
it all back; and she almost sank from her chair, when the farmer's wife
said:

"I am going to arrange your hair as the Allgau girls wear it. That will
suit you very well, for you look like an Allgau girl yourself--sturdy,
and brown, and round. You look like Dame Landfried's daughter at
Zusmarshofen."

"Why like her daughter? What made you think of her?" asked Barefoot, and
she trembled all over.

How was it that she was just now reminded again of Dame Landfried, who
had been in her mind from childhood, and who had once appeared to her
like the benevolent spirit in a fairy-tale? But Barefoot had no ring
that she could turn and cause her to appear; but mentally she could
conjure her up, and that she often did, almost involuntarily.

"Hold still, or I'll pull your hair," said the farmer's wife; and
Barefoot sat motionless, scarcely daring to breathe. And while her hair
was being parted in the middle, and she sat with her arms folded and
allowed her mistress to do what she liked with her, and while her
mistress, who was expecting a baby very soon, bustled about her, she
really felt as if she had suddenly been bewitched; she did not say a
word for fear of breaking the charm, but sat with her eyes cast down in
modest submission.

"I wish I could dress you thus for your own wedding," said the farmer's
wife, who seemed to be overflowing with kindness today. "I should like
to see you mistress of a respectable farm, and you would not be a bad
bargain for any man; but nowadays such things don't happen, for money
runs after money. Well, do you be contented--so long as I live you shall
not want for anything; and if I die--and I don't know, but I seem to
fear the heavy hour so much this time--look, you will not forsake my
children, but will be a mother to them, will you not?"

"Oh, good heavens! How can you think of such a thing?" cried Barefoot,
and the tears ran down her cheeks. "That is a sin; for one may commit a
sin by letting thoughts enter one's mind that are not right."

"Yes, yes, you may be right," said the farmer's wife. "But wait--sit
still a moment; I will bring you my necklace and put it around your
neck."

"No, pray don't do that! I can wear nothing that is not my own; I should