sink to the ground for shame of myself."

"Yes, but you can't go as you are. Or have you, perhaps, something of
your own?"

Hereupon Barefoot said that she, to be sure, had a necklace which had
been presented to her as a child by Dame Landfried, but that on account
of Damie's emigration it was in pledge with the sexton's widow.

Barefoot was then told to sit still and to promise not to look at
herself in the glass until the farmer's wife returned; and the latter
hurried away to get the ornament, herself being surety for the money
lent upon it.

What a thrill now went through Barefoot's soul as she sat there! She
who had always waited upon others was now being waited upon
herself!--and indeed almost as if under a spell. She was almost afraid
of the dance; for she was now being treated so well, so kindly, and
perhaps at the dance she might be pushed about and ignored, and all her
outward adornment and inward happiness would go for nothing.

"But no," she said to herself. "If I get nothing more out of it than the
thought that I have been happy, that will be enough; if I had to undress
right now and to stay at home, I should still be happy."

The farmer's wife now returned with the necklace, and was as full of
censure for the sexton's wife for having demanded such usurious interest
from a poor girl, as she was full of praise for the ornament itself. She
promised to pay the loan that very day and to deduct it gradually from
Barefoot's wages.

Now at last Barefoot was allowed to look at herself. The mistress
herself held the glass before her, and both of their faces glowed and
gleamed with mutual joy.

"I don't know myself! I don't know myself!" Barefoot kept repeating,
feeling her face with both hands. "Good heavens, if my mother could only
see me now! But she will certainly bless you from heaven for being so
good to me, and she will stand by you in the heavy hour--you need fear
nothing."

"But now you must make another kind of face," said her mistress, "not
such a pitiful one. But that will come when you hear the music."

"I fancy I hear it already," replied Barefoot. "Yes, listen, there it
is!"

And, in truth, a large wagon decorated with green boughs was just
driving through the village. Seated in the wagon were all the musicians;
in the midst of them stood Crappy Zachy blowing his trumpet as if he
were trying to wake the dead.

And now there was no more staying in the village; every one was
hastening to b