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, are 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.