University of Virginia Library

VI.—THE WOOD-LADY.

Betty was a little girl; her mother was a widow, and had
no more of her property left than a dilapidated cottage and
two she-goats; but Betty was, nevertheless, always cheerful.
From spring to autumn she pastured the goats in the birch-wood.
Whenever she went from home, her mother always
gave her in a basket a slice of bread and a spindle, with the
injunction, `Let it be full.' As she had no distaff, she used
to twine the flax round her head. Betty took the basket,
and skipped off singing merrily after the goats to the birch-wood.
When she got there, the goats went after pasture,
and Betty sat under a tree, drew the fibres from her head
with her left hand, and let down the spindle with her right
so that it just hummed over the ground, and therewith she
sang till the wood echoed; the goats meanwhile pastured.
When the sun indicated mid-day, she put aside her spindle,
called the goats, and after giving them each a morsel of bread
that they mightn't stray from her, bounded into the wood
for a few strawberries or any other woodland fruit that might
happen to be just then in season, that she might have dessert
to her bread. When she had finished her meal, she sprang
up, folded her hands, danced and sang. The sun smiled
on her through the green foliage, and the goats, enjoying
themselves among the grass, thought: `What a merry shepherdess
we have!' After her dance, she spun again industriously,
and at even, when she drove the goats home, her
mother never scolded her for bringing back her spindle empty.

Once, when according to custom, exactly at mid-day, after
her scanty dinner, she was getting ready for a dance, all of
a sudden—where she came, there she came—a very beautiful
maiden stood before her. She had on a white dress as
fine as gossamer, golden-coloured hair flowed from her head
to her waist, and on her head she wore a garland of woodland

flowers. Betty was struck dumb with astonishment.
The maiden smiled at her, and said in an attractive voice,
`Betty, a e you fond of dancing?' When the maiden spoke
so prettily to her, Betty's terror quitted her, and she answered,
`Oh, I should like to dance all day long!' `Come, then,
let's dance together. I'll teach you!' So spoke the maiden,
tucked her dress up on one side, took Betty by the waist,
and began to dance with her. As they circled, such delightful
music sounded over their heads, that Betty's heart
skipped within her. The musicians sat on the branches of
the birches in black, ash-coloured, brown, and variegated
coats. It was a company of choice musicians that had
come together at the beck of the beautiful maiden—nightingales,
larks, linnets, goldfinches, greenfinches, thrushes,
blackbirds, and a very skilful mocking-bird. Betty's cheek
flamed, her eyes glittered, she forgot her task and her goats,
and only gazed at her partner, who twirled before and round
her with the most charming movements, and so lightly that
the grass didn't even bend beneath her delicate foot. They
danced from noon till eve, and Betty's feet were neither
wearied nor painful. Then the beautiful maiden stopped,
the music ceased, and as she came so she disappeared.
Betty looked about her; the sun was setting behind the
wood. She clapped her hands on the top of her head, and,
feeling the unspun flax, remembered that her spindle, which
was lying on the grass, was by no means full. She took the
flax down from her head, and put it with the spindle into
her basket, called the goats, and drove them home. She
did not sing on the way, but bitterly reproached herself for
letting the beautiful maiden delude her, and determined
that if the maiden should come to her again, she would
never listen to her any more. The goats, hearing no merry
song behind them, looked round to see whether their own
shepherdess was really following them. Her mother, too,
wondered, and asked her daughter whether she was ill, as
she didn't sing. `No, mother dear, I'm not ill; but my
throat is dry from very singing, and therefore I don't sing,'
said Betty in excuse, and went to put away the spindle and
the unspun flax. Knowing that her mother was not in the
habit of reeling up the yarn at once, she intended to make
up the next day what she had neglected to do the first day,
and therefore did not say a word to her mother about the
beautiful maiden.

The next day Betty again drove the goats as usual to the
birch-wood, and sang to herself again merrily. On arriving
at the birch-wood the goats began to pasture, and she sat
under the tree and began to spin industriously, singing to
herself all the time, for work comes better from the hand
while one sings. The sun indicated mid-day. Betty gave
each of the goats a morsel of bread, went off for strawberries,
and after returning began to eat her dinner and chatter with
the goats. `Ah, my little goats, I mustn't dance to-day,'
sighed she, when after dinner she collected the crumbs from
her lap in her hand and placed them on a stone that the
birds might take them away. `And why mustn't you?'
spoke a pleasing voice, and the beautiful maiden stood beside
her, as if she had dropped from the clouds. Betty was still
more frightened than the first time, and closed her eyes that
she might not even see the maiden; but when the maiden
repeated the question, she answered modestly: `Excuse me,
beautiful lady, I can't dance with you, because I should
again fail to perform my task of spinning, and my mother
would scold me. To-day, before the sun sets, I must make
up what I left undone yesterday.' `Only come and dance;
before the sun sets help will be found for you,' said the
maiden, tucked up her dress, took Betty round the waist,
the musicians sitting on the birch branches struck up, and
the two dancers began to whirl. The beautiful maiden

danced still more enchantingly. Betty couldn't take her
eyes off her, and forgot the goats and her task. At last the
dancer stopped, the music ceased, the sun was on the verge
of setting. Betty clapped her hand on the top of her head,
where the unspun flax was twined, and began to cry. The
beautiful maiden put her hand on her head, took off the
flax, twined it round the stem of a slender birch, seized the
spindle, and began to spin. The spindle just swung over
the surface of the ground, grew fuller before her eyes, and
before the sun set behind the wood all the yarn was spun,
as well as that which Betty had not finished the day before.
While giving the full spool into the girl's hand the beautiful
maiden said: `Reel, and grumble not—remember my
words, "Reel, and grumble not!" ' After these words she
vanished, as if the ground had sunk in beneath her. Betty
was content, and thought on her way, `If she is so good
and kind, I will dance with her again if she comes again.'
She sang again that the goats might step on merrily. But
her mother gave her no cheerful welcome. Wishing in the
course of the day to reel the yarn, she saw that the spindle
was not full, and was therefore out of humour. `What were
you doing yesterday that you didn't finish your task?' asked
her mother reprovingly. `Pardon, mother; I danced a little
too long,' said Betty humbly, and, showing her mother the
spindle, added: `To-day it is more than full to make up for
it.' Her mother said no more, but went to milk the goats,
and Betty put the spindle away. She wished to tell her
mother of her adventure, but bethought herself again, `No,
not unless she comes again, and then I will ask her what
kind of person she is, and will tell my mother.' So she
made up her mind and held her tongue.

The third morning, as usual, she drove the goats to the
birch-wood. The goats began to pasture; Betty sat under
the tree, and began to sing and spin. The sun indicated

mid-day. Betty laid her spindle on the grass, gave each of
the goats a morsel of bread, collected strawberries, ate her
dinner, and while giving the crumbs to the birds, said:
`My little goats, I will dance to you to-day!' She jumped
up, folded her hands, and was just going to try whether she
could manage to dance as prettily as the beautiful maiden,
when all at once she herself stood before her. `Let's go
together, together!' said she to Betty, seized her round the
waist, and at the same moment the music struck up over
their heads, and the maidens circled round with flying step.
Betty forgot her spindle and her goats, saw nothing but the
beautiful maiden, whose body bent in every direction like
a willow-wand, and thought of nothing but the delightful
music, in tune with which her feet bounded of their own
accord. They danced from mid-day till even. Then the
maiden stopped, and the music ceased. Betty looked
round; the sun was behind the wood. With tears she
clasped her hands on the top of her head, and turning in
search of the half-empty spindle, lamented about what her
mother would say to her. `Give me your basket,' said the
beautiful maiden. `I will make up to you for what you
have left undone to-day.' Betty handed her the basket,
and the maiden disappeared for a moment, and afterwards
handed Betty the basket again, saying, `Not now; look at it
at home,' and was gone, as if the wind had blown her away.
Betty was afraid to peep into the basket immediately, but
half-way home she couldn't restrain herself. The basket
was as light as if there was just nothing in it. She couldn't
help looking to see whether the maiden hadn't tricked her.
And how frightened she was when she saw that the basket
was full—of birch leaves! Then, and not till then, did she
begin to weep and lament that she had been so credulous.
In anger she threw out two handfuls of leaves, and was
going to shake the basket out; but then she bethought herself,
`I will use them as litter for the goats,' and left some
leaves in the basket. She was almost afraid to go home.
The goats again could hardly recognise their shepherdess.
Her mother was waiting for her on the threshold, full of
anxiety. `For Heaven's sake, girl! what sort of spool did
you bring me home yesterday?' were her first words. `Why?'
asked Betty anxiously. `When you went out in the morning,
I went to reel; I reeled and reeled, and the spool still
remained full. One skein, two, three skeins; the spool still
full. "What evil spirit has spun it?" said I in a temper;
and that instant the yarn vanished from the spindle, as if it
were spirited away. Tell me what the meaning of this is!'
Then Betty confessed, and began to tell about the beautiful
maiden. `That was a wood-lady!' cried her mother in
astonishment; `about mid-day and midnight the wood-ladies
hold their dances. Lucky that you are not a boy, or you
wouldn't have come out of her arms alive. She would have
danced with you as long as there was breath in your body,
or have tickled you to death. But they have compassion
on girls, and often give them rich presents. It's a pity that
you didn't tell me; if I hadn't spoken in a temper, I might
have had a room full of yarn.' Then Betty bethought herself
of the basket, and it occurred to her that perhaps, after
all, there might have been something under those leaves.
She took out the spindle and unspun flax from the top,
and looked once more, and, `See, mother!' she cried out.
Her mother looked and clapped her hands. The birch-leaves
were turned into gold! `She ordered me: "Don't
look now, but at home!" but I did not obey.' `Lucky that
you didn't empty out the whole basket,' thought her mother.

The next morning she went herself to look at the place
where Betty had thrown out the two handfuls of leaves, but
on the road there lay nothing but fresh birch-leaves. But
the riches that Betty had brought home were large enough.

Her mother bought a small estate; they had many cattle.
Betty had handsome clothes, and was not obliged to pasture
goats; but whatever she had, however cheerful and happy
she was, nothing ever gave her so great delight as the dance
with the wood-lady. She often went to the birch-wood; she
was attracted there. She hoped for the good fortune of
seeing the beautiful maiden; but she never set eyes on her
more.