"What else can my heart wish for?" said Fritz to himself; "I now have everything that I can desire;" and so he journeyed merrily on his way. He had not gone far before he met an old Turk, bearded like a goat, who was standing near a tree, listening to the sprightly song of a bird perched on its topmost branch. "Oh, what a wonderful bird!" exclaimed the Turk; "how can such a little creature have such a powerful voice? Oh, if he were only mine! If one could but put salt on his tail and catch him!" "If that's all," said Fritz, "I will soon bring him down." So he took up his fowling-piece, and fired, when down came the bird into the thorn bushes that grew at the foot of the tree. "I will pick it up and keep it for myself, as you have hit it," said the Turk; and, laying himself down upon the ground, he began to work his way into the bush. But as soon as he had got into the middle of it, a fit of wanton playfulness seizing Fritz, he took up his fiddle, and gave him a tune, and the Turk began to dance and spring about; and the more lively the fiddler scraped, the more lively grew the dance. The thorns soon began to tear the Turk's shabby clothes, comb his goat's beard, and scratch and wound him all over. "Oh, dear!" cried he, "mercy, mercy, master! pray stop your fiddling! I do not want to dance." But Fritz paid no heed, and only struck up another tune, thereby making the Turk cut and caper higher than ever, so that pieces torn out of his clothes, hung about the thorn. "Oh, mercy!" cried the Turk, "do stop your fiddling, master! I will give you whatever you ask, a bagfull of gold, if you only will!" "Ah! if you are as generous as that," said the man, "I will put up my fiddle; but I must say you are a capital dancer." He then took the offered purse, put up his fiddle, and traveled onward. The Turk stood still looking after his tormentor for some time, and when he was almost out of sight, began to cry as loud as he could, "You miserable fiddler! you ale-house scraper! take care, if I get hold of you I will make you take to your heels; you beggarly knave! you ragamuffin!" And he went on loading him with all manner of abuse. After having thus given vent to his feelings, he went to the judge, saying, "See, your honor, how I have been robbed and ill-used by a rascal on the highway! the very stones might pity me. Do but look at the deplorable state I am in. My clothes are torn, my body is wounded and scratched; the little money I had is gone, purse and all! nothing but ducats, one piece finer than the other. For Heaven's sake, do have the fellow caught and imprisoned!" The judge then asked him whether it was a soldier who had put him in that plight with his sword. "By no means," said the Turk; "he had no sword, but he had a fowling-piece hanging on his back, and a fiddle round his neck. The fellow may easily be recognized."