KORS DAVIE
From 'The Massacre of the Innocents, and Other Tales by Belgian Writers': copyrighted 1895, by Stone & Kimball
It was fair-time, yet Rika Let, the young dairymaid of baes Verhulst, was sad. She had worked so hard all August that this morning, before mass, the baezine had given her a bright florin and spoken kindly to her:—
"Rika, it is fair-time for every one. Enjoy yourself, my girl. Here is something to buy yourself a neckerchief at the fair, a bright-colored one with fringe to cross over your breast."...
Rika accepted her mistress's present. Alone in her garret above the stable, she turned the shining coin over and over, but hesitated to exchange it for some coveted trifle at Suske Derk's stall, down there by the church. Great tears sprang to her eyes, eyes which were faintly tinged with green. What sorrow filled the heart of this fair young girl of eighteen summers?
"Ah," she sighed, "if only one of the village lads would take me to the fair and give me a gay kerchief! But who cares for poor Rika? Our lads woo other girls, better born and richer than I am! Baezine Verhulst knew that, or she would not have given me money to buy a thing which the poorest laborer, or even the humblest thresher, gives gladly to his sweetheart to-day.... Who will dance this evening with Rika Let at the Golden Swan?... No one.... No, baezine Verhulst, it is not a fête day for every one!"
Tears rested on her fair lashes as the morning dew clings to the bearded ears of corn. Mechanically she looked at herself in a piece of glass which hung beneath a little Notre-Dame of Montaigu. She was not plainer than many of her companions who were admired by the ardent and happy lovers. Ugly—Rika! No indeed. Fair as the August cornfields of the Verhulsts were her tresses. Her lips were red and full as ripe cherries. If you feel aught of the charm of the young peasant girls of our country, you would admire Rika.
She dressed herself in her simple Sunday clothes; a little collar and flat cap, both of dazzling whiteness; a skirt and bodice, unsoiled by any speck of dust.
The bell sounded for mass.
Go and pray, Rika! Who can say? the good God mayhap will unseal the eyes of the blind gallants of Viersel.