The sun had just gone down.  
 
The frog was his "good-night," which lasted so long that there seemed no end to it. The bee was creeping into its hive, and little children were crying because they had to go to bed. The flower was closing up its and bowing its head; the bird was tucking its bill under its wing; and the stag was laying himself down to rest in the tall, soft grass in the of the wood.
 
From the village church the bells were ringing for sunset, and when that was over the old clerk went home. On his way he had a little chat or two with the people who were out for an evening stroll, or were before their gate and smoking a pipe till they bade him good-night and shut the door.
 
Then it grew quite quiet, and the darkness fell. There was a light in the parson's house, and there was one also in the doctor's. But the farmers' houses were dark, because in summer-time the farmers get up so early that they must go early to bed.
 
And then the stars began to twinkle, and the moon crept higher and higher up the sky. Down in the village a dog was barking. But it must have been barking in a dream, for there was nothing to bark at.
 
  
"Is there anybody there?" asked the mist.
 
But nobody answered, for nobody was there. So the mist issued in her bright, airy robes. She went dancing over the meadows, up and down, to and fro. Then she lay quite still for a moment, and then she took to dancing again. Out over the lake she skipped and deep into the wood, where she threw her long, damp arms round the trunks of the trees.
 
"Who are you, my friend?" asked the night-violet,[A] who stood there giving forth just to please herself.
 
[A] An inconspicuous flower which in Denmark is very in the evening, the "night-smelling rocket" (Hesperis tristis).
 
The mist did not answer, but went on dancing.
 
"I asked you who you were," said the night-violet. "And as you don't answer me, I conclude that you are a rude person."
 
"I will now conclude you," said the mist. And then she spread herself round the night-violet, so that her petals were dashed with wet.
 
 
"Oh, oh!" cried the night-violet. "Keep your fingers to yourself, my friend. I have a feeling as if I had been dipped in the pond. You have no reason for getting so angry just because I asked you who you are."
 
The mist let go of her again.
 
"Who am I?" she said. "You could not understand even if I told you."
 
"Try," said the night-violet.
 
"I am the dewdrop on the flower, the cloud in the sky, and the mist on the meadow," said the mist.
 
"I beg your pardon," said the night-violet. "Would you mind saying that again? The dewdrop I know. It settles every morning on my leaves, and I don't think it is at all like you."
 
 
"Oh, oh!" cried the night-violet. "Keep your fingers to yourself, my friend. I have a feeling as if I had been dipped in the pond. You have no reason for getting so angry just because I asked you who you are."
 
The mist let go of her again.
 
"Who am I?" she said. "You could not understand even if I told you."
 
"Try," said the night-violet.
 
"I am the dewdrop on the flower, the cloud in the sky, and the mist on the meadow," said the mist.
 
"I beg your pardon," said the night-violet. "Would you mind saying that again? The dewdrop I know. It settles every morning on my leaves, and I don't think it is at all like you."
 
 
"No; but it is I all the same," said the mist mournfully. "But no one knows me. I must live my life under many shapes. One time I am dew, and another time I am rain; and yet another time I as a clear, cool streamlet through the wood. But when I dance on the meadows in the evening, men say that it is the marsh-lady ."
 
 
"It is a strange story," said the night-violet. "Do you mind telling it to me? The night is long, and I sometimes get a little bored by it."
 
"It is a sad story," answered the mist. "But you may have it and welcome."
 
But when she was about to lie down the night-violet shook with terror in all her petals.
 
"Be so kind as to keep at a little distance," she said, "at least till you have properly introduced yourself. I have never cared to be on familiar terms with people I don't know."
 
 
So the mist lay down a little way off and began her story:—
 
"I was born deep down in the earth—far deeper than your roots go. There I and my sisters—for we are a large family, you must understand—came into the world as waves of a hidden spring, pure and clear as crystal; and for a long time we had to stay in our hiding-place. But one day we suddenly leapt from a hillside into the full light of the sun. You can well imagine how it was to come tumbling down through the wood. We over stones and against the bank. Pretty little fishes amongst us, and the trees over so that their beautiful green was reflected in our waters. If a leaf fell, we cradled it and fondled it and carried it out with us into the wide world. Ah, that was delightful! It was indeed the happiest time of my life."
 
"But when are you going to tell me how you came to turn into mist?" asked the night-violet impatiently. "I know all about the underground spring. When the air is quite still, I can hear it from where I stand."
 
The mist lifted herself a lit............