Before Eloise could reply to my unintentionally brutal remark, a figure came out from amidst the trees and towards us. It was one of the jägers. A man past middle age, bent and warped like a tree that has stood the tempest for years. This man's name was Vogel, and good cause I have to remember that name. "Aha!" said he. "The children! Fräulein Eloise, Gretel is seeking for you in the house." We rose. "Come," said Eloise. And I was turning to go with her, but Vogel, who held a stick in one hand and a small penknife in the other, said to me as he whittled at the stick: "See you, have you ever made a whistle?" "No," I replied, interested, despite the man's German accent and his face, which was not attractive, for his cheeks were sucked in as though he were perpetually drawing at a pipe, and his nose, too small for his face, was hooked. I have never seen a nose so exactly like the beak of a screech-owl. Vogel, without a word, sat down and began cutting away at the whistle. "Are you not coming?" said little Eloise. "In a minute," I replied, looking over Vogel's shoulder at his handiwork. "Then stay," she pouted. And away she ran. I looked on at Vogel and his work, one foot preparing to go, the other foot holding me. "There is an old woman who lives in the wood," said Vogel, as he cut at the stick, "and she makes whistles." "Does she?" I replied. "She does," said Vogel. "She makes them of silver, and of glass, and of gold, and when you blow on them they go----" A strange warbling sound filled the wood. It was Vogel showing how the whistles of the old woman sounded when you blew into them. He had put a bird-call--the thing foresters use for snaring birds--between his lips. He removed it again with a laugh, and went on with his work. "She lives in a house made of gingerbread," went on the fowler. "And know you what the panes of her windows are made of?" "No." "Sugar, clear as your eye. And guess you what the door is made of?" "No." "Marzipan. Ah! that is a good house to live in," said Vogel. And I mentally concurred. "She keeps white mice, and rabbits with green eyes." "Green eyes?" "Yes; and she gave little Carl a rabbit for himself last time I took him to see her. There." He handed the whistle, which was finished, up to me over his shoulder, and I blew on it and found it good. "Would you like to have a rabbit like that?" asked Vogel, filling his pipe and lighting it. "I would." "Well, you can have one. I will get one for you to-morrow, or to-day, if you like to come with me to see the old woman who makes the whistles. Will you come?" "What time?" said I, hesitating. "Now," said Vogel. My answer was cut short by a sound from behind--the clinking of a bucket--and Joubert and a stout servant-maid appeared from the path leading to the lake. They were coming to gather water-plants for some household decoration. Joubert was gallantly carrying the bucket. Vogel sprang to his feet.