[Illustration: She bent forward, and clasped him in her slender arms, and kissed him on the lips.] “The dawn, the dawn, my children; see, the sun, the sun; beware, beware its rays.” Then came a great burst of sound like a chord from all the music folk, followed by a flash of light like lightning, and when it had cleared away, the singing men and girls had gone, and in their places there lay upon the ground all the musical instruments—fiddles, viols, pipes, horns, and cymbals. Othmar stood staring as if he had been turned to stone, and watched as if he were in a dream, while the little man quietly packed the instruments on to the mule, and went away leading it by the bridle as he had come. “Good-bye, Othmar,” he called back, “good-bye. When you hear my fiddles again, they will be sweeter than ever, for I have added your voice to them.” And he went on his way over the hillside and disappeared beyond the ridge. Othmar ran after him, but he stumbled and fell. He tried to call out, but no voice would come! Tears ran down his cheeks, and he sobbed bitterly, but no sound came with the sobs, and he knew that his voice had left him. The singing girl had stolen it, and he could never sing or cry out again! The sun was rising high in the heavens. The green lizards, slow-worms, frogs and beetles were still ranged around, and gazed at Othmar with their heads wonderingly on one side. The birds sang louder and louder, and their voices sounded sweet in the morning air. Othmar bent his head and wept because he knew that never could he call them to him again. Then from behind a bush there rose a big black raven, who cast a long shadow behind him which almost covered Othmar as he sat, and it gave a deep croak and then spoke quite clearly— [Illustration] “Poor Othmar!” it said, “she has stolen your voice!” and he hopped down. “You will never speak nor sing again. Poor Othmar!—ah! they stole my voice too; once I could sing far better than the birds you hear now. That was thousands of years ago, but the dwarf came to my nest, and told me if I would go with him he would teach me how to whistle so that the worms should rise out of the ground and jump into my mouth when they heard me, and he called one of his trumpet-men to teach me—one you saw dance—and he bid me lay my beak below his lips while he sang; then he stole my voice, all but a croak, which he did not want because it was so harsh, but all your voice was sweet, therefore she has got it all—poor Othmar, poor Othmar!” Then Othmar raised himself, with the tears running from his eyes, and turned to find his way back to the village. It seemed a long distance, for he missed his path, and it was near nightfall before he saw the tops of the cottages and his own little home; but as he neared the village, he could see Hulda standing in the road, shading her eyes from the sun, and watching the way he came.