“Why is the world so formed as it is?  Some flowers are so modest and little that they would be trodden under foot unless great care is taken, while others elevate their great and gaudy heads above the grass.  The latter are the rich, while the little down-trodden blossoms are the poor.  And so it is with even the birds! one is greater than the other, and mankind is not behind them.  We belong to the poor; there,” she continued, turning her deep eyes towards a distant point in the horizon, on the other side of the lake, “there lives the rich; they take no notice of us.  Even the poor fishermen and peasants say, ’Our children cannot be the play-fellows of Mademoiselle Nanna.’  Mademoiselle, Mademoiselle,” she repeated slowly, “it is shameful to call me so! and how much better it would be to call Magde good mother, than to give her the title of My Lady!  To be poor is not so bad, but to be friendless is bitter indeed.”

As she thus sat, with her eyes fixed mournfully upon the distant object which was the roof of an elegant house, which was barely visible over the brow of a hill, she was startled by the noise of approaching footsteps.  She had scarcely cast her mantle over her white shoulders, which she had uncovered during her ablutions, when, to her great astonishment, she discovered a stranger rapidly approaching towards her.  He was clothed in a light frock coat; a knapsack was fastened upon his shoulders, and in his hand he swung a knotted stick.  Nanna had never before beheld a personage who resembled the stranger.  His face, browned in the sun, until it resembled that of a gipsy, wore an honest and frank expression, and his dark curling hair, which fell in thick clusters from his black felt hat, added to the pleasing aspect of his countenance.

Nanna, who at her first glance at the youth, had thought him a gipsy, which wild tribe she greatly feared, was reassured by a second look.

The stranger, on his side, appeared greatly astonished at the sudden appearance of the beautiful water nymph, for such a goddess Nanna much resembled, as she stood, with her garments flowing gracefully around her slight figure; her tiny white feet playing with the moist grass, and her pale and mournful face, encircled with golden locks, that fell negligently upon her white and well rounded shoulders.

The youth thus addressed her: 

“Pardon me, lovely naiad.  It appears that I have taken the wrong path, although I supposed that I had chosen the right direction.”

“Whither are you going?” inquired Nanna, in a voice sweet and melodious.

“To Almvik,” replied the stranger.

“Alas!” said the maid, casting a peculiar glance at his knapsack, “I hoped that you were not a member of the aristocracy.”

“Oh, my little sylph, for I know not what else to call you, is my face so poor a recommendation, that I cannot be considered a man because I carry a pack on my back?”