She was tall and coarsely built, not fair of face, nor light in the dance, nor tuneful in her song.  She had broad cheeks, thick lips and a flat nose.  She had very red cheeks, very dark hair.  She was exuberant in figure, moving with vigor and life.  Her clothes were shabby but bright in color.  Red bands edged the striped skirt and bright colored worsted fringes outlined the seams of her bodice.  Other young maidens resemble roses and lilies, but she was like the heather, strong, gay and glowing.

The hunter watched with pleasure as the big, splendid woman danced on the red heath among the playing grasshoppers and the fluttering butterflies.  While he looked at her he laughed so that his mouth was drawn up towards his ears.  But then she suddenly caught sight of him and stood motionless.

“I suppose you think I am mad,” was the first thing that occurred to her to say.  At the same time she wondered how she would get him to hold his tongue about what he had seen.  She did not care to hear it told down in the village that she had danced with a fir root.

He was a man poor in words.  Not a syllable could he utter.  He was so shy that he could think of nothing better than to run away, although he longed to stay.  Hastily he got his hat on his head and his leather bag on his back.  Then he ran away through the clumps of heather.

She snatched up her bundle and ran after him.  He was small, stiff in his movements and evidently had very little strength.  She soon caught up with him and knocked his hat off to induce him to stop.  He really wished to do so, but he was confused with shyness and fled with still greater speed.  She ran after him and began to pull at his game-bag.  Then he had to stop to defend it.  She fell upon him with all her strength.  They fought, and she threw him to the ground.  “Now he will not speak of it to any one,” she thought, and rejoiced.

At the same moment, however, she grew sick with fright, for the man who lay on the ground turned livid and his eyes rolled inwards in his head.  He was not hurt in any way, however.  He could not bear emotion.  Never before had so strong and conflicting feelings stirred within that lonely forest dweller.  He rejoiced over the girl and was angry and ashamed and yet proud that she was so strong.  He was quite out of his head with it all.

The big, strong girl put her arm under his back and lifted him up.  She broke the heather and whipped his face with the stiff twigs until the blood came back to it.  When his little eyes again turned towards the light of day, they shone with pleasure at the sight of her.  He was still silent; but he drew forward the hand which she had placed about his waist and caressed it gently.

He was a child of starvation and early toil.  He was dry and pallid, thin and anaemic.  She was touched by his faintheartedness; he who nevertheless seemed to be about thirty years old.  She thought that he must live quite alone in the forest since he was so pitiful and so meanly dressed.  He could have no one to look after him, neither mother nor sister nor sweetheart.