The next day Barefoot had much running back and forth to do in the house; for she was to dress Rose for the great occasion.  She received many an unseen knock while she was plaiting her hair, but bore them in silence.  Rose had a fine head of hair, and she was determined it should make a fine show.  Today she wished to try something new with it; she wanted to have a Maria-Theresa braid, as a certain artistic arrangement of fourteen braids is called in those parts.  That would create a sensation as something new.  Barefoot succeeded in accomplishing the difficult task, but she had scarcely finished when Rose tore it all down in anger; and with her hair hanging down over her brow and face, she looked wild enough.

But for all that she was handsome and stately, and very plump; her whole demeanor seemed to say:  “There must be not less than four horses in the house into which I marry.”  And many farmers’ sons were, indeed, courting her, but she did not seem to care to make up her mind in favor of any one of them.  She now decided to keep to the country fashion of having two braids, interwoven with red ribbons, hanging down her back and reaching almost to the ground.  At last she stood adorned and ready.

But now she had to have a nosegay.  She had allowed her own flowers to run wild; and in spite of all objections, Barefoot was ultimately obliged to yield to her importunities and rob her own cherished plants on her window-sill of almost all their blossoms.  Rose also demanded the little rosemary plant; but Barefoot would rather have torn that in pieces than give it up.  Rose began to jeer and laugh, and then to scold and mock the stupid goose-girl, who gave herself such obstinate airs, and who had been taken into the house only out of charity.  Barefoot did not reply; but she turned a glance at Rose which made the girl cast down her eyes.

And now a red, woolen rose had come loose on Rose’s left shoe, and Barefoot had just knelt down to sew it on carefully, when Rose said, half ashamed of her own behavior, and yet half jeeringly: 

“Barefoot, I will have it so—­you must come to the dance today.”

“Do not mock so.  What do you want of me?”

“I am not mocking,” persisted Rose, still in a somewhat jeering tone.  “You, too, ought to dance once, for you are a young girl, and there will be some of your equals at the wedding—­our stable-boy is going, or perhaps some farmer’s son will dance with you.  I’ll send you some one who is without a partner.”

“Let me be in peace—­or I shall prick you.”

“My sister-in-law is right,” said the young farmer’s wife, who, until now, had sat silent.  “I’ll never give you a good 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: