“Othmar,” she cried when she saw him, “is it you? I have been to search for you far and near, and there are others now looking for you, for we were afraid lest you had fallen down some crevice, or slipped over the rocks.” Othmar came up to her, and put out his hand, and she saw how pale he was, and that his eyes were full of tears, but he said nothing. “Othmar, tell me,” cried Hulda; “what has happened? why don’t you speak?” but still Othmar was silent. “Are you hurt, Othmar? Did the dwarf do you any harm?” Then Othmar flung himself on the ground, and began to sob, but his sobs gave no sound, though the ground was wet with his tears, and Hulda knew that Othmar was dumb. “Poor Othmar, poor Othmar!” croaked the raven who had kept close to Othmar, and flew overhead, but Hulda did not understand it, only she wept to see his grief. “Never fear, Othmar,” she said tenderly, “your voice will soon come back; it was the long cold night, and the fear that has driven it away. Come home with me, and let me nurse you, and you shall soon be well.” Othmar shook his head, and the tears fell from his eyes, but he let her take his hand and lead him into the village where his old mother sat and waited for him; but still, although she sprang forward to greet him, and put her arms around his neck, he could not speak, and his deep sobs gave no sound. At first the villagers said he was ill, and soon he would be well again, but as the days passed and he never spoke, they knew that he was struck dumb. Some said it was the cold, and some that he had been frightened; only Hulda said to herself, “it was the wicked little man.” So the days passed, and Othmar remained silent and worked with the other young men of the village without speaking, and no longer could he sing or call the birds to him. Always he looked white and sad, but saddest of all when there was any village merry-making, and the villagers sang and danced together. Then when he heard them he would put his fingers in his ears and hide his eyes so as not to see them and run afar off by himself; for the sound of any music was quite horrible to him after the singing of the travelling musicians. So a year passed, and Othmar never spoke, and instead of calling him the bird-boy, the village people called him “dumb Othmar.”