She wondered where the children went after the hill-side shut them in. She wondered what they saw. She thought the Piper's music must have been very odd indeed to charm them so. She could almost hear-- _What was that_? She gave a start; for sure as you live, she heard the sound of a fife piping shrill and loud round the corner. She flung down the book and ran into the street. The air was cold and sharp and made her shiver, but she did not stop to think of that; she was listening to that Piper who was coming around the side of the house,--nearer and nearer. She meant to follow him, whoever he was. There! How the wind whistled and the leaves scurried! Wind! Leaves! Why, it was the Pied Piper himself with his puffed cheeks and tattered coat; and before him ran the host of children, dancing, as they went, to the tune of the Piper's fife. Away--away-- With a bound Doris left the door-step and followed after, running and fluttering, skipping and skurrying, sometimes like a little girl and sometimes like a big leaf,--she had n't time to ask herself which she really was; for all the while she was listening to that wonderful fife as it whistled and wailed, shrieked and sighed, and seemed to coax them on all the while. She followed blindly after the rest of the whirling crowd. Away they went, always more and more,--away they went, clear out of town and into the bare country,--away they went; and the Piper behind them made his fife-notes shriller and louder, so that all could hear, and they seemed to be carried along in spite of themselves. It was like a race in a dream. Their feet seemed not to touch the ground. The leaves rustled--no, the children chattered as they fluttered--no, hurried along. Doris could catch little sentences here and there; but they seemed to be in a strange tongue, and she did not understand. But by and by she grew very familiar with the sounds, and, strangely enough, she found she could make out the meaning of the queer words. "It 's German," she thought; "I know they're talking German;" and so she listened very attentively. "Sie ist eine Fremde," she heard one say to another; "sie gehoert nicht zu uns,"--which she immediately knew meant: "She is a stranger; she doesn't belong to us." "Nein," replied the other; "aber sie scheint gut und brav zu sein." At which Doris smiled; she liked to be thought "good and sweet." On and on they went; and after a time things began to have a very foreign look, and this startled Doris considerably. "We can't have crossed the ocean," she thought. But when she asked her nearest neighbor where they were and whether they had crossed the Atlantic, he smiled and said,-- "Ja, gewiss; wir sind in Deutschland. Wir gehen, schon, nach Hamelin,"--which rather puzzled Doris; for she found they had crossed the sea and were in Germany and going to Hamelin. "It must be the Piper's wonderful way," she thought.