and his knees knocked together as he bowed.

Since there was no way out of it, the Broom-maker moved toward the door. He tapped once with the knuckle of his forefinger, gently, like a little mouse. Then in a wee, small voice, he said:

"Good wife, won't you buy a broom?"

No answer came from within the hut.

Emboldened by the silence, Master Wood-cutter joined his comrade at the door of the hut. Then he, too, rapped a little bit, just like a penny hammer.

"Most honored wise-woman!" he whispered.

But no answer came. All was as still as before.

"There's no one at home," said both at once. And they strutted boldly to and fro, grinning from ear to ear.

"Stand aside!" said the Fiddler.

He pushed them away and strode toward the door. With his clenched fist he banged once, twice, thrice. And he lifted his voice. My, what a voice it was! The very woods rang with the sound of it.

"Witch! Hag! Foul woman!" he shouted. "Open the door!"

There was a moment's silence. But presently the door creaked on its rusty hinges, and there stood the Witch, in all her ugliness, leaning upon a cane.

The Wood-cutter and the Broom-maker gave her one glance and then, stricken with terror, they fled as fast as their legs could carry them to the first tree. There they waited, trembling and quaking, to see what the dread creature would do. They would not venture out, no, not they. They had wives and children to care for, and it was no business for men of their kind. No, indeed!

Meanwhile the Witch was croaking in her awful voice:

"Who comes here to my hut in the woods? Hey, fellows, what do you want?"

"What do I want?" mocked the Fiddler, who had bravely stood his ground. Looking at her calmly, he dropped on one knee, with a comical smile:

"Ah, fair dame, those red, red eyes and that one yellow tooth of yours have made me sick with love and longing. Listen to my suit, I pray."

The Witch looked at him in surprise as he rose to his feet. Could it be that he was not afraid of her? He looked her straight in the eyes, fearless and brave. So she scowled. He smiled. She shook her cane. He laughed. Well! Well! Her magic was powerless against a man like that. Let him tell his tale and be gone.

So it came to pass that the Fiddler called the Wood-cutter and the Broom-maker and bade them state their business. But they bobbed and scraped and hemmed and hawed and chattered and giggled so long that the Fiddler had to come to the rescue.

The King of the World of Men had died, and since the King's Son had run away and could not be found, there was no one to rule the town of Hellabrun. So the people had sent the Wood-cutter and the Broom-maker to ask the Wise-Witch what was to be done. They wanted a ruler straightway and did not know where to find one.

The Witch pondered long, frowning savagely. Then she told the Wood-cutter and the Broom-maker to go back and tell the people that the first person who knocked at the town gate at noon on the morrow would be worthy to wear the crown.

Pleased with this prophecy the Wood-cutter and the Broom-maker hurried away through the grim forest toward the town of Hellabrun in the World of Men.

But the Fiddler did not go. He had caught a glimpse of a golden head and a pair of blue eyes at the window; and the sight of one so fair in such a hut told him that there was work for him to do here.

"Why do you stay?" snarled the Witch. The Fiddler gave her a sharp glance.

"I'm setting a snare for the little golden bird that you keep in the hut."

The Witch started. She clenched her fist wrathfully, but her eyes fell before his steady glance.

"Let out the golden bird," sang the Fiddler, cheerily, "or I will go in, I will go in."

The Witch looked this way and that. She could not meet his eyes. Muttering savagely, she hobbled toward the door. A moment later she dragged forth the trembling Goosegirl.

The Fiddler was amazed. Such beauty! Such pride! She was fit to sit upon a throne!

"Who are you, maiden?" he asked. "And how came you here?"

Slowly and sadly the words fell from the Goosegirl's lips. She knew not who she was. The Witch had told her to call her "Grandmother." More than that she could not say.

The Fiddler's eyes traveled from the Goosegirl to the hideous Witch and back again. This fair maid kin to that foul creature! No, no, it was not possible.

As if divining his thought, the Witch wagged her head maliciously and sneered:

"No, she is no kin of mine. But worse, far worse. You may know all. A hangman's daughter is she; that's it, a hangman's daughter."

"It is not true," shouted the Fiddler. Then turning to the weeping Goosegirl, he cried:

"Believe her not. Look at your hands, girl, your white, white hands, and your hair, your golden hair. There's nobility in your face. Believe in yourself, and you will sit beside the King's Son on a throne. Be not afraid. Pray, girl, pray!"

The Goosegirl fell upon her knees and lifted her eyes to heaven. Her voice rose from the depths of her being and cried out to the mother and father whom she had never seen. Her golden hair covered her like a mantle, her face was radiant. Still kneeling, she held her crown of gold toward heaven and prayed to God for help, for guidance, for strength. And as she prayed, a shining star shot from heaven, downward, downward, straight into the lone lily by the door of the hut.

The Goosegirl uttered a cry of joy. Putting the crown upon her head, she arose, exclaiming:

"I'm free! I'm free! I'm free!"

Then, followed by her geese and the Fiddler, she rushed into the grim wood toward the World of Men.

III

When morning dawned and the grim wood with all its terrors lay behind the King's Son, he came at last to the town of Hellabrun in the World of Men. Weary and footsore, faint from hunger and thirst, yet dauntless still, he stopped before an inn near the town gate and begged for work.

"I would earn an honest penny," he said, "to buy my daily bread. Have you any work for me?"

The innkeeper, who was a rough, ill-natured fellow, smiled with contempt as he looked upon the white hands and noble face of the youth before him. So he declared gruffly:

"All I need is a swineherd!"

"A swineherd!" The voice of the King's Son echoed the loathsome word, while a look of disgust overspread his face. But only for a moment; then, quick as thought, came the vision of the Goosegirl, so sweet and fair despite her humble calling. "All work is noble to those that are of noble mind," thought he. His hand stole to his heart and touched the wreath of white daisies there.

"I will be your swineherd," he answered sturdily.

Then he seated himself beneath a tree to await the orders of the innkeeper.

Now it happened to be a day of great excitement in Hellabrun, and as the morning wore away, a chattering, restless crowd of people—men, women, and even little children—assembled in the market place. With eager eyes they scanned the two soldiers who, armed with long spears, stood on guard before the closed and barred town gate.

There were lean men and fat men; men in rich clothes and men in rags. There were tinkers and tailors, soldiers and sailors, and their wives and their sweethearts. Here were wise doctors in black gowns, there gray-bearded counselors leaning upon canes. Wee babes in arms crowed and