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“I’m sorry that I tired you so much,” said Old Pipes.

“Oh, that would not have tired us,” said one of the boys, “if we had not been so far to-day after the cows, the sheep, and the goats. They rambled high up on the mountain, and we never before had such a time in finding them.”

“Had to go after the cows, the sheep, and the goats!” exclaimed Old Pipes. “What do you mean by that?”

The girl, who stood behind the old man, shook her head, put her hand on her mouth, and made all sorts of signs to the boy to stop talking on this subject; but he did not notice her, and promptly answered Old Pipes.

“Why, you see, good sir,” said he, “that as the cattle can’t hear your pipes now, somebody has to go after them every evening to drive them down from the mountain, and the Chief Villager has hired us three to do it. Generally it is not very hard work, but to-night the cattle had wandered far.”

“How long have you been doing this?” asked the old man.

The girl shook her head and clapped her hand on her mouth more vigorously than before, but the boy went on.

“I think it is about a year now,” he said, “since the people first felt sure that the cattle could not hear your pipes; and from that time we’ve been driving them down. But we are rested now, and will go home. Good-night, sir.”

The three children then went down the hill, the girl scolding the boy all the way home. Old Pipes stood silent a few moments, and then he went into his cottage.

“Mother,” he shouted; “did you hear what those children said?”

“Children!” exclaimed the old woman; “I did not hear them. I did not know there were any children here.”

Then Old Pipes told his mother, shouting very loudly to make her hear, how the two boys and the girl had helped him up the hill, and what he had heard about his piping and the cattle.

“They can’t hear you?” cried his mother. “Why, what’s the matter with the cattle?”

“Ah, me!” said Old Pipes; “I don’t believe there’s any thing the matter with the cattle. It must be with me and my pipes that there is something the matter. But one thing is certain, if I do not earn the wages the Chief Villager pays me, I shall not take them. I shall go straight down to the village and give back the money I received to-day.”

“Nonsense!” cried his mother. “I’m sure you’ve piped as well as you could, and no more can be expected. And what are we to do without the money?”

“I don’t know,” said Old Pipes; “but I’m going down to the village to pay it back.”

The sun had now set; but the moon was shining very brightly on the hill-side, and Old Pipes could see his way very well. He did not take the same path by which he had gone before, but followed another, which led among the trees upon the hill-side, and, though longer, was not so steep.

When he had gone about half-way, the old man sat down to rest, leaning his back against a great oak-tree. As he did so, he heard a sound like knocking inside the tree, and then a voice distinctly said:

“Let me out! let me out!”

Old Pipes instantly forgot that he was tired, and sprang to his feet. “This must be a Dryad-tree!” he exclaimed. “If it is, I’ll let her out.”

Old Pipes had never, to his knowledge, seen a Dryad-tree, but he knew there were such trees on the hill-sides and the mountains, and that Dryads lived in them. He knew, too, that in the summer-time, on those days when the moon rose before the sun went down, a Dryad could come out of her tree if any one could find the key which locked her in, and turn it. Old Pipes closely examined the trunk of the tree, which stood in the full moonlight. “If I see that key,” he said, “I shall surely turn it.” Before long he perceived a piece of bark standing out from the tree, which appeared to him very much like the handle of a key. He took hold of it, and found he could turn it quite around. As he did so, a large part of the side of the tree was pushed open, and a beautiful Dryad stepped quickly out.