Illustration.She bent forward, and clasped him in her slender arms, and kissed him on the lips.
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 withtheir 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—
Othmar bent his head and wept.
“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 mynest, 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.
“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 hewas, 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 soonhe 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.”
It was midsummer-night, and the villagers had been having a merry-making and dancing cheerily on the green in the village. Othmar was not with them; he had left the village and went and sat apart onthe top of a rocky hill, from where afar the sea could be seen when the weather was clear. The moon was wonderfully bright, and the country was almost as light as by day. Othmar could hear the sound of their laughter, but he never laughed, and as he sat with his head bowed upon his knees he wept silently. So he remained alone till far into the night when all the singing and dancing was done, and the villagers had gone home, but just when the clocks struck twelve he saw Hulda, who came slowly to him, and he saw that she too was crying.
“Othmar,” she said, “I have thought and thought, and I know that the little man with the fiddles was a wicked fairy.” Othmar nodded. “So I am going into the big world to find him, for if he has done you this ill he will know how to cure you, and I have saved all my money for a year.”
Then Othmar took her hand, and kissed it, but still wept, as he shook his head and made signs to her that she must not go, as it would be all in vain. But Hulda did not heed him.
“And now,” she said, “I am going, Othmar, and it may be long years before I return, so you must do three things. First, you must give me a long curl of your brown hair, that I may lay it next my heart and wear it day and night, not to forget you. Then you must kiss me on my lips to say good-bye; and then you must promise that my name shall be the first words your lips say when they again can speak.” Then Othmar took his knife and cut from his head the longest, brightest curl of his hair, and drew her to him and kissed her thrice upon the lips, and then he took her hand and with it wrote upon his lips her name, “Hulda,” as a promise that her name should be the first thing they said.
“Good-bye, Othmar,” she said; “you will wait for me.” Then she turned away and started alone to go down the mountain-side, and she looked back as she went and called back, “Good-bye, Othmar,” as long as he could see or hear her.
She went straight down the hill and journeyed for a long way, till the dawn began to show red in the sky, and she lay under a tree and slept soundly till the sun had risen and woke her.
She sat and thought which way she should go. “I must seek out somewise man who knows about fairies and wicked witches,” she said to herself, “and who will tell me where to search. And I will ask every one I meet where the wisest person is to be found.” So she went on for many days till she came to a tiny village, outside which, in a field, she saw a shepherd minding sheep. Hulda stopped and asked if he could tell her where she could find a very wise man who could answer her question.
The shepherd thought a bit, and then he said, “The wisest man in these parts lives up in the little cottage on the other side of the village. He cured my sheep two years back when all the flock were sick and many died—a little cottage with a red gate.” Hulda thanked the shepherd, and went on till she came to the little cottage with the red gate. When she had knocked at the door a tall man came out, and she asked him if ’twas he who had cured the shepherd’s sheep, and as he was so clever, if he would tell her what to do. She told him she wanted to find a dwarf who led a donkey covered with musical instruments, and whom she knew to be a wicked sorcerer, since he struck folk dumb.
The tall man looked at her and said, “My business is to cure sheep, cows, and horses, and I know it right well; but I know nothing of dwarfs and witches, and how can I tell you which way he has gone, or anything about him?”
“Then of whom had I best ask?” said Hulda. “Tell me who is the wisest and most learned man in these parts, and I will go to him.”
The tall man rubbed his head and considered. “I suppose,” quoth he, “that the old school-master at the village school yonder would be said to be the most learned man hereabouts, for he teaches the children all sorts of things that they forget when they grow up. That is the school-house on the hill.” So on went Hulda again to the school.
As she came near she could hear the children calling out their lessons, and their master, who was an old priest, teaching them. So she waited about till school hours were over, and the children had all come out, and then she timidly went in and curtseyed to the old school-master, and told him her tale, and asked him, as he was so very learned, if he would advise her what to do; but instead of answering her the old man at first stared at her in bewilderment, and then he said, “I can teachyou to read and write and many wonderful things, but of dwarfs who can steal a boy’s voice I know nothing. You would do best not to think more of it.”
“But some one there must be,” cried Hulda, beginning to cry, “who can tell me what to do, and which way to go. For I am sure that the old man was a fairy, and if so, no living man can help Othmar, but only he who did the mischief can undo it.”
The old priest looked at her sadly and shook his head. “My child,” he said, “this is a foolish talk about fairies and sorcerers, I know nothing of such things. It is only untaught folk and fools who give heed to such matters.”
“To untaught folk and fools then I must go, for surely they can help me more than the wise,” she cried. So she left the school-house, and started again through the little village street. The first person she met was a baker going home after taking round his bread, and she stopped him and asked him who was the most ignorant and foolish person in those parts.
Hulda went in and bought a cake.
The baker stood and stared at her, and seemed to be half angry. Atlast he said, “I am sure I don’t know anything about fools. You had better go on to the cake-maker, who lives a mile up the hill. He is, to my mind, the biggest fool in these parts.” And tossing his basket about and seeming to be much offended, he went his way. Hulda went on for a mile up the hill, and there she found a little group of cottages, and in their midst was a shop with an open oven, and she could see itsowner busy making cakes and sweets. Hulda went in and bought a cake, and as she sat and ate it, she asked the man timidly if he knew many of the people in that neighbourhood, and if any were very ignorant and foolish.
“Indeed,” cried the man, “you may well ask that. Why, a more silly, ignorant set of folk I never knew, quite different from the people in my native town, but that is miles away.”
“And who do you think the silliest then?” asked Hulda.
“Why, for sure ’tis hard to say,” said the man, scratching his head. “They’re such a poor silly lot, right away from the Mayor down to Tommy the fool.”
“And who is Tommy the fool?” asked Hulda eagerly.
“’Tis a poor natural-born idiot who lives with his mother in the little cabin on the side of the common. He spends all his time trying to catch a bird, and he never has caught one, and never will.”
“Thank you for telling me about him,” said Hulda, rising to go away. “Maybe if he is really a fool he could answer my questions as theysay,” and she went on again with a lighter heart. At last she came to the common on which the fool lived with his mother. When she approached the little cabin, she saw some one dancing about in front of an oak, dressed up with the feathers of birds and fowls, which looked as if they had been picked up from the ground. He was a young man of about eighteen, and he had a cheerful face, but any one looking at him could see at once he was an idiot. He was dancing round the tree and pointing up to the birds, and calling them to come down to him. Hulda came up and stood quite close and watched him, as he ran round smiling and giggling. Then she said, “Please can you tell me where I shall find a little man, a dwarf who drives a donkey covered with pipes and fiddles?”
The fool looked at her very gravely, but he said nothing; so then she went on to tell him how the little man had come to their village, and how he had stolen Othmar’s voice, and how she had come out to seek it. Just as she finished speaking, there rose from the ground a raven,and soared above their heads. When he saw it the fool pointed to it, and cried out, “The raven, the raven, follow the raven,” and as the raven flew, he ran after him with Hulda following in turn. They ran for a long way, the fool leaping and bounding, and pointing with his finger and crying, “The raven, the raven, do what the raven does.” Then suddenly he turned, giving a wild laugh, and began to run home again, but as he went he nodded and called to Hulda, “Follow the raven, follow it, do what the raven does.”
Hulda felt inclined to burst into tears with disappointment, but still she ran meekly after the bird, murmuring to herself, “He said follow the raven, but what good can that do me?” But when the fool had turned back, the raven slackened his pace, and cawed and lighted on a tree, and Hulda, panting for breath, sat down under it, and looked up at it.
“Poor Hulda!” it croaked, but she couldn’t understand it; “poor Hulda, come with me, and I will show you where the dwarf is.” Then it began to fly slowly on again.
“What shall I do?” sobbed Hulda. “He was only an idiot, he knew nothing; still he told me to follow the raven, and no one else hastold me anything;” so on she went, and this time the raven flew quite slowly, so that Hulda kept up with it walking. On they travelled till evening was well advanced, into all sorts of places where Hulda had never been, and through many villages. Then it began to grow dark, and the moon came out, but still they travelled on. Hulda was foot-sore and weary, but she would not give up, and said to herself, “It was what the fool said, ‘Follow the raven, do what the raven does!’”
Just before dawn, they came out on to a big plain, where there were neither houses nor trees, but in the far distance you could see a long line of mountains; a little further in the centre of the plain Hulda saw a little dark mass, and straight to this the raven flew, and as Hulda approached it, she saw that it was the little dwarf, lying asleep upon the ground beside his heap of musical instruments, with the mule grazing near. “Oh, good wise fool,” cried Hulda, “now indeed you have given me the best advice. Since the raven has led me to the wicked dwarf, now indeed will I do what the raven does, whatever it be.”
The raven flew on, and lit upon a scrubby bush, a little way fromthe sleeping dwarf, and Hulda followed and crouched beside it, making no noise lest she should disturb the sleeper, and hiding behind the branches so that she could not be seen. Presently the little man rose from the ground, and called out, “Come, my children, practice, practice; the dawn is here, and the sun will rise, and then we must go upon our way.”
Then Hulda saw what Othmar had seen before. The pipes raised themselves from the ground, and untwisted, and became tall, lithe men; some gradually uncurled themselves, and put forth long arms and became beautiful girls, till each instrument had taken the likeness of a human being. Then they began to dance and to sing, and Hulda watched them as Othmar had watched them, and she too felt as if she had never seen and heard anything so beautiful in her life, and she longed to rush to them, but she heard the raven croak above her, and remembered the words of the fool, “The raven, the raven, do what the raven does.” Then she saw that the raven had hopped off the tree, and was standing upon the earth in front of her, and was beginning to dig in the earth with its long beak, as if it would find a worm. “The fool said, Do what theraven does, so must I dig too,” thought she, and she began to scoop the brown earth with her hand, till she had made a hole, watching the raven all the time.
Presently she saw that the raven had found a long worm, and held it by its throat in the air, but it did not swallow it. Hulda looked into her hole to see if there was a worm there also, and at the bottom she saw lying a long, lithe, green snake, twisted up and apparently torpid. “Surely,” thought Hulda, “if I do what the raven does, I shall take this out,” and she put her hand into the hole, and grasped the snake by its throat, though she was very much afraid of it, and then she crouched down behind the raven and the bush.
“Come,” cried the dwarf, when they had all sung together, “now let us hear the last new voice. Othmar’s voice was as sweet as silver. Now let me hear how my youngest daughter has treated it.” Then there came to the front the youngest and fairest of the girls, and began to sing, and when she heard it, Hulda could scarcely keep from screaming, for she recognized that the tones were Othmar’s; but just as the singing sounded the sweetest, the raven with a croak opened his mouth, anddropped the worm upon the ground, and Hulda let go her hold of the bright green snake, which darted through the short grass towards the dancers.
There arose from all sides the cry of “A snake, a snake!” and they seemed panic-stricken. The snake glided straight towards the singing girl, and deftly coiled itself round her ankles, while from the old man and all the others came a terrible uproar, but the snake from the girl’s ankles had slid up her body in bright green coils, and then twisted itself around her throat, and coiled tighter and tighter and tighter, till her head fell over on one side. Then Hulda heard a noise like the sighing of wind, but sweet and tender, while the dwarf and all the singers were in a hubbub and confusion.
For a moment the old man stood motionless, then he rose and gave a terrible cry. Hulda trembled when she heard his voice, it sounded like nothing earthly, but ere he was silent there had risen from the ground and from the bushes near a number of little cloudy forms, black and thick, and twirling in all directions, and they twisted in and out among the singers; and as they twisted among them, they ceased to bemen and women, but became musical instruments, as they had been before, all save the girl around whose neck the snake had wound, and who seemed to shrivel and shrivel in its coils till she was no more to be seen.
In less than a minute they were all packed again upon the mule, and the little old man was leading it quietly away, as if nothing had happened. And upon the grass lay the glittering snake, though all trace of the girl around whose neck it had twisted had gone. Hulda ran to it, and then she almost cried, for she feared that after all the girl with Othmar’s voice had escaped her. But she remembered the words of Tommy the fool, “Do as the raven does; follow the raven,” and looking up she saw that the raven was fluttering above her, with the worm it had picked up from the ground in its mouth.
“Oh, dear raven,” cried Hulda, “you brought me to where the little man was, now lead me back and show me what to do next.” And mindful of the fool’s advice, she picked up the snake, and holding it firmly by the throat, turned to follow the raven, who flew ahead of her. Thus theyjourneyed back, over the same country through which Hulda had come before. All looked just the same, but Hulda was sorely tired, for she had now been walking many days, and she felt sad, for she did not know if after all she had gained anything, or whether she ought not to have followed the little old man, and though she had heard Othmar’s voice, she did not know how she was to get it back to him. “Never mind,” she said to herself, “the fool told me right so far, and evidently he knew all about it, so I had best keep to his advice.”
The sun rose high in the sky and the day was very hot, and poor Hulda longed to lie down under the trees and sleep; moreover the snake in her hand twisted and twisted, till she could scarce hold it. Sometimes she cried from very weariness, but still the raven flew in front of her. She had bought dry bread as she came along, and when the raven stopped and hopped upon the ground, she munched it to stave off her hunger, but directly the raven began to fly she followed it, and she never let the snake from her grasp. The sun had set, and dark was all over the land ere she came to the village where the fool lived, but no fool wasthere to be seen. Hulda sought everywhere, but she could not find him. Then she saw that the raven had stopped and settled on the roof of the cottage where the fool lived, and, standing on one leg, had gone to sleep with its head under its wing, so Hulda lay down by the side of the door, and laying her head on a stone rested too. But first she took off her girdle and tied it firmly round the snake’s throat, and then tied it round her waist again lest she should fall asleep and the snake glide away.
Just when the stars were beginning to look pale, and as there were signs of the dawn in the sky, the door of the cottage opened, and out there came the fool, dressed up as Hulda had seen him before, with feathers and weeds and bits of bright rag. Hulda started up, and he laughed when he saw her. “Look,” he said, “the sun is rising; I am come out to see it.”
“I have come back,” cried Hulda, “and I have seen them all—the old man and the musician girls, and the one who stole Othmar’s voice will never use it again, for this snake has throttled her; but what am I to do now? How can I give him back his voice? What shall I do to make him speak?” And as she spoke she took the snake from her bosom and showedit to the fool. He looked at it very gravely as he always did when anything was shown to him, and looked very wise and nodded. “It is a snake,” he said; “perhaps Othmar will like the snake.”
Hulda begged him to tell her if he knew what she should do, but he would say no more, but began to dance and sing as she had seen him do before. Then at last Hulda burst out crying, “He is nothing but a poor idiot,” she said, “and I have been on a fool’s errand when I did as he told me, though I did see the wicked little man, and this snake did punish the singing girl, so I will take it back to Othmar that he may see I have tried. But now I believe he will be dumb for ever.”
And she took the snake and looked at it as she held it. It was very still, and seemed half torpid, though the weather was warm. She saw it was not a common snake, for it was bright brown, and green with odd markings, and it glittered oddly when the sun’s rays touched it.
“I will go back now,” said Hulda; “I will go back to Othmar, and tell him I have failed, and ask him to forgive my vanity in thinkingI could help him. I will go back at once and tell him all.” And overhead the raven croaked and told her to go quickly, but she did not understand what he said.
So again she began to trudge on, holding the snake in her hands and toiling over fields and moors in the way that she knew led to her own little village, though by now her feet were so swollen and her legs so stiff that she almost cried for pain.
Presently she came to the village where the cake-maker lived, and as she passed his shop, she saw that he stood at the door and nodded to her as he saw her coming.
“Good-day,” he cried; “you are the young wench I saw go past awhile back.”
“Yes, I am going home now,” said Hulda.
“And have you found your fiddles and horns that turned to men and women?” he asked. “It was a fool’s errand, I fear, you were going on; and what have you got in your hand now?”
“It is a snake,” answered Hulda, “and——”
“A snake!” screamed the cake-maker. “Lord love the girl, is she mad to go wandering over the country carrying a snake with her? Why, it mightkill you, wench! Drop it at once!”
“No, indeed, I will not drop it,” said Hulda, “for it seems to me that it is the only thing which may do Othmar good, for at any rate it has killed the girl who stole his voice, and——”
At this the man started and called out, “Good Lord, she is clean off her head. Stolen Othmar’s voice! What can the wench mean? Why, girl, that snake might bite you, and you would be dead at once. Why on earth should you carry it because it has killed a girl?”
“I am carrying it because the fool told me to do what the raven does,” answered Hulda, “and he has still a worm in his mouth. Look.”
At this the man burst out laughing. “Why, what has that to do with you?” he cried; “a raven will often carry a worm for a bit. Drop this snake at once, you silly lass, or, better still, hold it firm while I crush its head with my poker.” And he seized the poker to kill it with.
Then Hulda was frightened lest he might steal the snake from her, or kill it by force, and she ran on; but she ran in such haste that she stumbled against the baker who was just coming out from his shop withhis basket of loaves on his arm.
“Can’t you look where you are going?” he cried in anger, as he picked up the bread which had rolled into the road; and then, seeing it was Hulda, he said:—“Why, who are you running away from, my girl? Are you on the look-out for more fools that you can’t see when an honest man comes along? And whatever have you got there?”
“It is only a snake I have found,” said Hulda, when she had asked the man’s pardon, and she tried to hide the snake in her skirt, but the baker seized her arm and made her show it to him.
“What on earth are you carrying a live snake with you for?” he asked. “Don’t you know they are venomous beasts, and the bite of one is certain death?” And, like the cake-maker, he tried to wrench the snake from her. At this Hulda was terribly frightened.
“If they take the snake from me,” she thought, “then my last chance is gone,” and she tried to free herself from the baker, but he seized her by the skirt and held her fast, and shouted out to others to come and help him.
“Help, help!” he cried. “Here is a poor mad girl, and she has got hold of a poisonous adder, and she will let it loose in the village and it will bite some of our children and kill them.” And when they heard his cry the villagers all came running out of their cottages.
“Let me go, let me go,” shrieked Hulda, “it will do no harm. I will hold it tight, and I would not lose it for the wide world.”
“I tell you she is mad,” roared the baker, and the cake-maker came up and said the same thing. “She wandered by here some time back, and all she wanted to know was where she could find another as mad as herself, but she will have far to go before she meets one, I reckon. We must secure her and take the snake from her, but beware how you catch it, for fear it should bite.”
And the people all gathered round her and made a great hubbub, though they were afraid to touch the snake which Hulda still held firmly in her hand. And they made such a din that the old school-master came out of the school-house with his pupils after him.
The people told him there was a poor mad girl who had got a snake, and would not let them take it from her, and he remembered Hulda as theothers had done, and shook his head and said sadly, “I fear it is too true. The poor child is really mad, but we cannot wrench the snake from her lest it may turn and bite us. But it is certain that it would not be safe to let her go; so, as the children are all going home now, let us lock her into the school-house here, till we can get something to kill the creature with, and then when the doctor comes, he can see if the poor girl is very bad, and what had better be done with her.”
Hulda turned quite white with fear, and cried out that she was not mad, and that the snake should harm no one, but they would not heed her, and pushed her into the school-house, and bolted the doors on her, and there Hulda sat on the floor and cried as if her heart would break.
“Alas!” cried she, “now all hope is gone, and Othmar will be dumb for ever. For what good have I carried this snake with me all this way, if now it is to be taken from me and killed?” and her tears fell on the viper as she looked at it in her hand. It was very bright green and yellow, and it kept wrinkling and twisting its skin as she graspedit, and making a loud hissing noise. As her tears were still falling she heard a croak over her head, and saw the raven perched on a window above her, and again her hopes revived.
“Maybe he has come to help me,” she thought, “for I should never have found the little dwarf if it had not been for the raven.” Then as she looked up at the raven sitting in the window, she saw that it was pecking at a piece of rope that hung through the window, and Hulda thought—“Surely if I could climb up to the window, I could scramble through it, and climb down the rope on to the ground. Only if they were to see me, they would catch me again, so I must wait till nightfall when there is no one there.”
So she sat down again and waited till the sun had set, and she trembled at every noise lest it might be some one coming to seek her, but they left her alone, and no one came. When it was quite dark, and all the village was quiet she went to the window, and tried to climb up to it, but she found that she could not manage to get up on to the window-sill while she held the snake in her hand. Then first she thought she would wind it around her waist, but she remembered how it had tightenedaround the singing girl and killed her, and for some time she could not think what to do with it. At last she twisted it into a knot, and placed it in her bosom, though she trembled lest it should bite her. And when she placed it in her bosom, she saw the curl of Othmar’s hair that lay there, and she took it and tied up the snake’s jaws with it so that it might not open its mouth. “For Othmar’s hair will not break or give way,” she said; “it is like his heart, it will be true and strong till the end.”
Then she climbed up on to the window-ledge, and scrambled through the window, and took the piece of rope and let herself down on to the ground outside. And when she lit upon the ground, she heard the raven croaking above her, and her heart leapt for joy, and she began to run as fast as she could to get away from the village lest they might catch her again.
When she came again into the open country, she looked for the raven, and saw that it was flying in front of her as before, towards the distant mountains where she knew lay her home. She toiled on, for manydays, but by now the summer had nearly passed away, and when she got into the high mountain land, she found that the cold winter had given signs of coming, and the trees were beginning to be bare, and there was a light white frost on the ground. It was far into the night when she arrived in the village, and the villagers were all asleep and their cottages shut. Outside the cottage where Othmar lived grew a big old ivy tree, and on this the raven perched, and underneath it Hulda lay down to wait the dawn and Othmar’s waking. She lay quiet for a bit, but when she saw a faint glimmering of light where the sun was going to rise, she felt she could be still no longer, and she sprang up and called, “Othmar, come down, I am here,” for she dreaded having to tell him before the other villagers that she had failed.
In a few moments the door of the cottage opened and Othmar came out, and ran to greet her, but she kept afar.
“Othmar,” she cried, “I have done you no good, save that I have punished the wicked girl who took your voice. This snake killed her, so she will never sing as you did again. See.” And she held out the snaketo him; it was curled round and still tied up with his hair, and as the sun began to shine it glittered brightly.
“But I have done you no good, indeed rather harm,” Hulda went on, “for I have made you hope where there was no hope, and you have waited and expected that I should bring you back what you had lost, and I have not done it, and now I shall never hear you say my name ‘Hulda’ again,” and she wept so bitterly that the tears fell from her face, and dropped upon the snake which still she grasped. Othmar held out his hand, and tried to take her hand that he might kiss it, and as he did so, he touched the snake’s long tail, and it began to writhe and twist, and glisten more and more as the sun shone on it. And as he raised her hand to his mouth, Othmar tried to say her name “Hulda” with his poor dumb lips that could make no sound, and he breathed it on the snake, and it seemed as if the snake vibrated with the name, and suddenly it swelled and swelled, and shone still more brightly, and its mouth grew wide and burst Othmar’s hair which had bound it, and widened out till it was not a snake any more, but a curled golden trumpet, curled up as the snakehad been, and like that which had been changed into the singing girl who stole Othmar’s voice. “Take it, Othmar, and blow,” cried Hulda, and he put it to his lips and cried “Hulda!” and Hulda heard her name echoing back in a burst of music from all around. At its sound the birds awoke in all the trees, and began their morning chorus, and the village folk ran to their windows to see what the trumpet’s peal had been, and saw Othmar standing with Hulda in his arms, and at their feet the bright trumpet which he had dropped. It lay on the ground, but as Othmar began to speak and to say, “Hulda, Hulda, you have brought it back, you have given me my voice again,” the trumpet broke into many pieces, and with every word crumbled, till there was nothing left but a little heap of shining golden sand, and from under it there glided out a dark green snake with yellow markings, and it slid away into the bushes and disappeared.
Then all the villagers rejoiced, and Hulda wept with happiness. And Othmar married Hulda, and his voice never left him again; but when long years after folk would tell him his voice was sweet and far morebeautiful than the birds, he would say, “But it is not really my voice, it is my wife’s, Hulda’s, for I should have been dumb for ever if she had not sought it and brought it back to me.”