"Do you not know?" she said, laughing. "Why, Hans, to-morrow is the first of May, and I am curious to know if I shall have a May-pole raised for me."
"You, Anneli!" cried Hans, looking in astonishment on her beautiful face—"you will have many a tree; they call you already 'the pearl of the valley,' and the rich farmers' sons will fight for the honour," he added in a low sorrowful tone.
This tone thrilled Anneli's heart; she leant towards him with innocent confidence, and said with emotion—"Let them, Hans; but you know that I shall take pleasure in no May-pole but one."
It was these words which were driving Hans now in the silence of night through the dangerous ravine and the foaming torrent, and up the steep precipice to the pine wood. Here he felled the chosen tree skilfully, tore the bark from the smooth stem, and bore the trunk carefully on his shoulder through shrubs and narrow mountain ways down into the valley. His path was dark and difficult, and jutting rocks often hemmed his footsteps; but his love for Anneli kept him from feeling weary, and the thought of her joy always gave him new strength. Thus, after hours of toil, he arrived at last in the village, and stood before Anneli's door. Then he took a packet carefully out of his shepherd's bag, and with the prettiest ribbons which his mother had been able to find in the nearest town he adorned the tree; and that Anneli's heart might make no mistake, he tied at the top a bunch of alproses, such as he used to bring every evening when he was the goat-herd and she a lovely little child. Then he planted the pole firmly in the ground right before Anneli's window, and with a glance at the bright ribbons fluttering gaily in the wind like the streamers from a ship, he turned joyfully towards the mountain and his slumbering herds.
It was evening, and the farewell sunbeams shed their gold on the mountain meadows and the senner's dark flowing hair, as he went with pail and stool to milk the herds just returning from the pasture. Well he loved the mountain, the herds, and the evenings full of sunset splendour and of peace. But to-day he had no eye for the glory around him; he thought of the valley and of Anneli, who was to join to-day for the first time in the village dance, and who would be led by some richer hand. Hitherto, he had thought himself passing rich; to-day, for the first time, he sighed over his poverty. He sat down beside his favourite, Brownie, and began to milk; but in the middle of his work his hands dropped on his lap, and he began to wonder who besides himself had set up trees for Anneli, and whether she had known his among them all. Surely she must have. The bunch of alproses at the top would tell her, and he smiled to himself, and began again to milk.
Then a well-known voice called to him from the cottage, "Hallo, Hans! where are you hiding? I have been searching the whole place for you."
Hans shouted back an answer, and there appeared above the hedge the face of Seppi, the only one of the farm-servants who did not grudge Hans his place in Anneli's favour, and who had always remained his firm and faithful friend.
"Well, Seppi, what good news do you bring?" asked Hans, with a feeling of presentiment. "What brings you so late to the mountain?"
"It is Anneli, self-willed girl," answered Seppi, laughing. "She will not go to the dance without you. Quick, quick, put on your best clothes. The fiddlers are ready, and the maidens waiting to be fetched. I will stay here in your place to-night." Hans darted up like an arrow and flew into the cottage, while Seppi took his seat beside the cows, and went on with the unfinished work.
In a few minutes Hans appeared in holiday clothes, and in his hat a garland and a ribbon like those on Anneli's May-pole. "Now, Seppi, take good care of the cattle," said he, coming back to the hedge. "You have known the beasts for years—ever since you were here for a while as under-senner. Good-bye." And he hurried off.