All the villagers stared with surprise, and some called out that it was magic, and crossed themselves, but the little man took up another pipe, and set that going too, and then the horns and the trumpets, and the drums and the cymbals, and then he took a fiddle and drew the bow across it, and how it played! It made the people weep and laugh. Othmar lay on the ground listening, and it seemed to him as if the sound were made of silver, and when the musician had started them, and all the other fiddles were playing together, he felt as if he should go mad for joy to hear anything so lovely. Just behind where Othmar lay sat a young girl, named Hulda. She was an orphan, and dwelt alone with an old woman, who gave her food and lodging for sweeping out her room, and cleaning and cooking. Also Hulda made money for her by going out to work for the other women in the village. She was neither pretty nor clever, but she was a good girl, and if any of the villagers were ill or in trouble, it was for Hulda they would send at once, because they knew she would spare no pains to help them, and would think nothing too much trouble. She had played with Othmar ever since they were babies, and loved him dearly. She was the only one who listened to the music who did not think it beautiful. She shuddered as she heard it, and she sat and watched Othmar and saw that there were tears in his eyes, and she grieved that she did not love it as he did. When at last the instruments stopped and the listeners began to feel for money for the musician, he laughed and said, “You need not give me money, for I am very rich, and don’t need it. In return for my playing, I only ask for one recompense. Let any of your young folks who sing, sing me a song, for I too love hearing music that is not my own.” On this the villagers began to look round for all who could sing, and they chose out some three or four, and begged them to sing their very best to the wonderful musician. Among them was Othmar, but they all bid him wait to the last, as his would be the best. Whilst the others were singing, the little man did not seem to heed them much, though they tried hard to sing well, and chose their prettiest songs, but their voices sounded very rough and poor after the playing. But when Othmar began he stopped twanging the fiddle-strings and watched him. Othmar’s voice rang out clear and sweet, and all the village folk felt proud of his singing, even after hearing the wonderful instruments. When he ceased the little man rose, and said— “You have a sweet voice, my boy, be sure that you always use it well; and now I must be going my way, but as I am a stranger here, perhaps you would not mind setting me on my road, and showing me the best way over the hill.” Othmar sprang up, delighted to go with him, but Hulda, who watched from behind, came up to him and whispered— “Oh, Othmar, don’t let him take you far—come back soon.”