On the last evening she limped down to the tree almost crying with pain. When she sat down by its trunk she heard the soft sighing voice saying, “Never mind, Nanina; to-night is the last, and though it will hurt you the most, it will soon be past.” So she slipped her feet into the earth once more, though she shrank as they touched it, and directly the sun had set, the lights appeared in the palace windows, and out came the shepherd with all his black goats and her one white sheep following him. He looked more beautiful than ever, for he had a crown set with jewels, and was dressed in scarlet and gold, but when the pipe began to play it was not merry dance-music it made, but long sad notes, like a funeral march; yet Nanina’s feet would have moved in spite of herself, and she would have marched in time to them, had not the roots tightened like cords and held her down. Tears of pain ran down her cheeks, and she sobbed, and instead of the joyous words what the music said was— “Join us, Nanina, dance again, One last dance will ease your pain.” [Illustration: “Join us, Nanina, dance again, One last dance will ease your pain.”] Presently the music grew quicker, and her longing to move with it grew stronger. She swayed herself about, and cried and screamed as the fairy and flock danced, now solemnly and slowly, now joyously and wildly. Just when she felt that she could bear it no longer there came one long low note on the pipe, and with a mighty crash like thunder the shepherd and the goats disappeared, and not only had they gone, but the walls of the old palace had fallen, and nothing was left of it but a heap of stones. Beside her on the grass was the last of her lost sheep. “Good-bye, Nanina,” said the voice from the beech tree; “now you have all your flock again,” and she felt the roots loosen round her feet, but when she looked at them she found that her legs were wounded and bleeding, where she had dashed them about in trying to dance. She knelt down and smoothed over the earth where it was torn up among the trees, and she put her arms round the trunk and kissed and thanked it for having helped her, but the voice did not speak again. Then she drove home the last sheep, but she had to go on her hands and knees, for her feet were too bad to walk. Next day when the farmer came home, he was well pleased that she had kept his flock safe, but he would fain know how she had got such sore feet that for long she must walk lame. “Of a truth, master,” she quoth, “it was in saving the lambs when they got into dangerous places.” Underneath the beech tree, where Nanina’s feet had bled among the earth, there sprang up pretty little scarlet flowers, and whenever she passed and saw them she remembered how she had been punished for disobeying her master, and made up her mind never to do so again. [Illustration: THE END] [Illustration: THE GIPSY’S CUP]