When Bakala had come down from the mountain he engaged himself as shepherd to a village Pope in the valley. Every day he led the sheep into the fields, and blowing his bagpipe he made them caper and jump into the air like grasshoppers. And when, one morning, his master had sneaked out before him into the fields, and had hid himself in some bushes of sloes and dog-roses to watch his servant's strange proceedings, Bakala made the Pope dance as well as his flock. The Pope was a soft-hearted sort of man. Quietness he loved above all things in the world; for its sake no sacrifice appeared to him too great. As to his wife, she was of a different disposition. To say the truth, she was just the reverse of her husband. She had more courage in her little finger than he had in all his limbs. His _Yes_ was her _No_, and when he called a thing white she was sure to declare that she had long since found it to be very black indeed. Neither would she believe in the power of Bakala's bagpipe. When the poor Pope, after his return from the sloes and dog-roses, showed her his tattered clothes and scratched limbs, all the sympathy he got from her was, "Tush! tush! nonsense! If I were as soft-hearted as some people are said to be, I might perhaps pity you." "Well, my dear," replied the cowed husband, "you shall hear him to-night. I want to convince you"---- "Convince me?" cried the Pope's wife: "Fudge! I to be frightened by a bagpipe? Let him come on!" Then the Pope thought that it was time to withdraw for the sake of quietness. But in the evening he took Bakala aside, and desired him just to serenade their mistress for a little while under the window. Before Bakala commenced playing the Pope sat down on the ground and bound two heavy stones to his feet by way of precaution, while his wife busied herself in the upper story of the house. No sooner had Bakala begun his performance than she danced so furiously that she made the whole house shake. Bakala played faster and faster; her stamping grew louder and louder. She danced until she had actually stamped a hole in the floor, through which she descended into the lower story. The Pope peeped into the room; and when he saw what had happened he felt sorry, and he beckoned Bakala to leave off playing. But, alas! he beckoned too late! The poor lady had danced herself to death. Now, one might have thought the Pope would have dismissed Bakala, telling him that his services were not any further required. But this is just precisely what he did not do. On the contrary, he kept Bakala in his service, and treated him even better than before.[75] THE TWO HUNCHBACKS.