"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."