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And then one day some lambs strayed away into the forest, and a young shepherd went after them to bring them safely back to their mothers. And as he wandered this way and that through the forest, following their light tracks, he came to a little birch tree, bright with new leaves, waving over a little mound of earth. And there was a reed growing in the mound, and that, you know as well as I, is a strange thing, one reed all by itself under a birch tree in the forest. But it was no stranger than the flowers, for there were flowers round it, some red as the sun at dawn and others blue as the summer sky.

Well, the shepherd looks at the reed, and he looks at those flowers, and he thinks, “I’ve never seen anything like that before. I’ll make a whistle-pipe of that reed, and keep it for a memory till I grow old.”

So he did. He cut the reed, and sat himself down on the mound, and carved away at the reed with his knife, and got the pith out of it by pushing a twig through it, and beating it gently till the bark swelled, made holes in it, and there was his whistle-pipe. And then he put it to his lips to see what sort of music he could make on it. But that he never knew, for before his lips touched it the whistle-pipe began playing by itself and reciting in a girl’s sweet voice. This is what it sang:–

“Play, play, whistle-pipe. Bring happiness to my dear father and to my little mother. I was killed–yes, my life was taken from me in the deep forest for the sake of a silver saucer, for the sake of a transparent apple.”

When he heard that the shepherd went back quickly to the village to show it to the people. And all the way the whistle-pipe went on playing and reciting, singing its little song. And everyone who heard it said, “What a strange song! But who is it who was killed?”

“I know nothing about it,” says the shepherd, and he tells them about the mound and the reed and the flowers, and how he cut the reed and made the whistle-pipe, and how the whistle-pipe does its playing by itself.

And as he was going through the village, with all the people crowding about him, the old merchant, that one who was the father of the two bad ones and of the little pretty one, came along and listened with the rest. And when he heard the words about the silver saucer and the transparent apple, he snatched the whistle-pipe from the shepherd boy. And still it sang:–

“Play, play, whistle-pipe! Bring happiness to my dear father and to my little mother. I was killed–yes, my life was taken from me in the deep forest for the sake of a silver saucer, for the sake of a transparent apple.”

And the old merchant remembered the little good one, and his tears trickled over his cheeks and down his old beard. Old men love little pigeons, you know. And he said to the shepherd,–

“Take me at once to the mound, where you say you cut the reed.”

The shepherd led the way, and the old man walked beside him, crying, while the whistle-pipe in his hand went on singing and reciting its little song over and over again.

They came to the mound under the birch tree, and there were the flowers, shining red and blue, and there in the middle of the mound was the Stump of the reed which the shepherd had cut.

The whistle-pipe sang on and on.

Well, there and then they dug up the mound, and there was the little girl lying under the dark earth as if she were asleep.

“O God of mine,” says the old merchant, “this is my daughter, my little pretty one, whom we called Little Stupid.” He began to weep loudly and wring his hands; but the whistle-pipe, playing and reciting, changed its song. This is what it sang:–