Just as the golden edge of the moon peeped over the eastern mountain a loud song burst upon the air. And a moment later a Fiddler, clad in leather jacket and boots, appeared, emerging from the grim wood. He strode forth boldly as befitted an honest man who had nothing to fear. Seeing the miserable, tumbledown hut with its smoking chimney, he stopped. "Ah, ha!" cried he. "Here's the journey's end." Then, looking back into the woods and waving his cap, he shouted at the top of his voice: "Come on, Master Wood-cutter. Come on, Master Broom-maker. Here's the Witch's den. Come on!" And Master Wood-cutter and Master Broom-maker came on. But how they came! They slunk out of the woods in fear and trembling, teeth chattering, knees shaking, eyes bulging. They took but one look at the tumbledown hut and then made for the nearest tree, behind which they cowered, shivering from head to toe. "Not so loud! Not so loud! Master Fiddler, please. She may hear you," they protested. "Ha-ha-ha! Ha-ha-ha!" laughed the Fiddler. "Don't you want her to hear you? What did you come for, then, pray tell me?" And so he half dragged, half pushed, the two cowardly braggarts toward the Witch's door. "You may knock first," said the polite Broom-maker through his chattering teeth to the Wood-cutter. "No, indeed. You may have the honor," responded the Wood-cutter, and his knees knocked together as he bowed. Since there was no way out of it, the Broom-maker moved toward the door. He tapped once with the knuckle of his forefinger, gently, like a little mouse. Then in a wee, small voice, he said: "Good wife, won't you buy a broom?" No answer came from within the hut. Emboldened by the silence, Master Wood-cutter joined his comrade at the door of the hut. Then he, too, rapped a little bit, just like a penny hammer. "Most honored wise-woman!" he whispered. But no answer came. All was as still as before. "There's no one at home," said both at once. And they strutted boldly to and fro, grinning from ear to ear. "Stand aside!" said the Fiddler. He pushed them away and strode toward the door. With his clenched fist he banged once, twice, thrice. And he lifted his voice. My, what a voice it was! The very woods rang with the sound of it. "Witch! Hag! Foul woman!" he shouted. "Open the door!" There was a moment's silence. But presently the door creaked on its rusty hinges, and there stood the Witch, in all her ugliness, leaning upon a cane. The Wood-cutter and the Broom-maker gave her one glance and then, stricken with terror, they fled as fast as their legs could carry them to the first tree. There they waited, trembling and quaking, to see what the dread creature would do. They would not venture out, no, not they. They had wives and children to care for, and it was no business for men of their kind. No, indeed! Meanwhile the Witch was croaking in her awful voice: "Who comes here to my hut in the woods? Hey, fellows, what do you want?"