One little flaxen-haired girl told her they were nearing Hamelin.
"It used to have a big wall around it, with twenty towers and a large
fort; but that was all blown up by the French, years and years ago,"
she explained.
"But it has a chain-bridge," she remarked proudly,--"a chain-bridge
that stretches quite across the Weser."
Doris was just about to say: "Why, that's nothing! We have a huge
suspension bridge in New York;" but the words seemed to twist
themselves into a different form, and the memory of home to melt away,
and she found herself murmuring, "Ach, so?" quite like the rest of the
little Teutons.
But at length the fife ceased playing, and the children stopped.
There they were in quaint old Hamelin, with its odd wooden houses, and
its old Munster that was all falling to ruin, and its rosy-cheeked
children, who did not seem to notice the new-comers at all.
"We must be invisible," thought Doris; and indeed they were.
Then the Pied Piper came forward and beckoned them on, and softly they
followed him to the very hill-side, that opened, as Doris knew it
would, and they found themselves in a vast hall. A low rumbling
startled Doris for a moment, but then she knew it was only the
hill-side closing upon them. She seemed to hear a faint cry as the
last sound died, away, and was tempted to run back, for she feared some
child had been hurt; but her companion said,--
"It can't be helped, dear; he _always_ gets left outside, and then he
weeps. You see he is lame, and he cannot keep up with us."
So Doris knew it was the self-same little lad of whom Browning had
written in his story of the Piper.
What a chattering there was, to be sure; and what a crowd was gathered
about the Piper at the farther end of the hall! Every once in a while
all the children would laugh so loudly that the very ceiling shook. It
was such a merry throng.
"Tell me," said Doris to her little neighbor,--"tell me, are you always
so gay here? Do you never quarrel? and have you really lived in this
hillside all this long, long time,--ever since the Piper first came to
Hamelin five hundred years ago?"
"Ja, wohl," replied the girl, nodding her flaxen head. "We are always
so happy; we never quarrel; therefore we are ever young, and what thou
callest five hundred years are as nothing to us. Ah! we are well cared
for here, and the Piper teaches us, and we him; and we play and frolic
and sometimes travel, 'und so geht's.'"
"But what can you teach _him_?" asked Doris, wondering.
"Ah! many things. We teach him to tune his fife to the sounds of our
laughter, so that when he travels he may pipe new songs. Ah! thou
foolish one, thou thoughtest him the _wind_. And we teach him to be as
a little child, and then he keeps young always, and his heart is warm
and glad. And we teach him-- But thou shalt see;" and she nodded
again, and smiled into Doris's wondering eyes.
The hall they were in was long and wide, and hung all about the walls
were the most beautiful pictures, that seemed to shift and change every
moment into something more strange and lovely. And as Doris looked she
seemed to know what the pictures were,--and they were only reflections
of the children's pure souls that shone out of their eyes.
"How beautiful!" she thought.
But the Piper was singing to them now; and as she drew nearer him she
saw he had two little tots in his arms, and was putting them to sleep
on his breast.
So the children were still while the Piper sang his lullaby, and
presently the two little ones began to nod; and the Piper did not move,
but held them to his kind heart until they were fast asleep. Then he
rose and carried them away and laid them down somewhere. Doris could
not see where, but it must have been far enough away to be out of the
sound of their voices; for when he came back he did not lower his
tones, but spoke up quite naturally and laughed gayly as he said,--
"Well, what now, Children? Shall we show the new friend our
manufactory?"
And they were all so anxious to do whatever he proposed that in a
moment they had formed quite a bodyguard about the Pied Piper, and were
following and leading him down the vast hall.
"What is the manufactory?" asked Doris of a boy who happened to be
beside her.
"Wait and thou shalt see!" he replied. "We always are patient until
the Herr Piper is ready to tell us what he wishes; then we listen and
attend."
Doris would have felt that the boy was snubbing her if his eyes had not
been so kind and his voice so sweet. As it was she took it all
pleasantly, and determined to ask no more questions, but to content
herself with as much information as the Piper was willing to bestow
upon her.
But now they had passed out of the first great hall and into another
that seemed even more vast. At first it seemed quite empty to Doris,
but as soon as her eyes grew accustomed to the strange light, she saw
its walls were flanked by any number of wee spinning-wheels; and above
them on shelves lay stacks of something that looked like golden flax,
and shimmered and glittered in a wonderful way. The floor was carpeted
with something very soft and of a tender, fresh green, and Doris's feet
seemed to sink into it at every step; and then a sweet perfume seemed
to rise up like that one smells on an early spring-day when one goes
into the country and is the first to lay foot on the fresh young grass.
The ceiling was so high that at first Doris thought it was no ceiling
at all, but just the sky itself, and it was a deep, clear blue.
"This is our Spring-room, little Doris," explained the Piper. "Now,
Children!"
And at these words they broke away from him, leaving only Doris by his
side; and each group began a different task. One new to the stacks of
gold and separated them into long, heavy skeins; while another spun the
threads back and forth till they sparkled and danced and seemed to turn
into sunbeams that at length broke away and glanced into the blue
above, where they played about just as the sunlight does on a bright
spring-day. Others, again, knelt down upon the soft carpet, and seemed
to be whispering something very sweet to some one or something hidden
below; and before very long up sprang long, tender shoots, and then
thin buds appeared, and by and by the buds swelled and burst, and then
where every bud had been was a flower. And all this time there had
been a sound as of falling drops that seemed to be keeping time to a
soft little melody the children were crooning.
The Piper, looking at Doris's wondering face, said, smiling: "Thou dost
not comprehend, dear heart? Well, I will explain. As I said, this is
our Spring-room, and in it all the sunshine and flowers and clouds and
rain are made that go to make up a spring day. They," he said,
pointing to the first group, "are separating the golden skeins so that
they can be spun into sunbeams. It takes great patience before they
are completely finished; and if one of the spinners should sigh while
weaving, it would ruin the beam and make it dull and heavy. So, you
see, the sunbeam-children must be very light-hearted. Then those
others are coaxing the flowers to spring up and bud. After they are
all well above ground the flower-children hide a secret in the heart of
each blossom, and a very beautiful secret it is, and so wonderful that
very few ever succeed in finding it out. But it is worth searching
for, and one or two world-people have really discovered it. Thou mayst
guess what a difficult task is that of my flower-children; for at first
the flowers are drowsy and would prefer to slumber yet awhile; and my
children must whisper to them such beautiful thoughts that they forget
everything else and spring up to hear more. The singing thou nearest
is the lullaby the rain-children are singing to the drops. Thou
knowest that the clouds are the rain-cradles, and when my children sing
slumber songs and rock the clouds gently to and fro, the drops grow
sleepy and forget to fall. But sometimes they are too restless to
remain in their beds, and then they fall to earth; and if we could wait
so long we might hear the children teach them their patter-song. But
we have much else to see, and must go forward. Now, Children!"
At this there was a slight commotion while the deft hands put aside
their tasks; but it was over in a moment, and the Piper once more in
the midst of the merry crowd, who laughed gayly and chattered like
magpies, while Doris looked her admiration and delight, and the Piper
smiled approvingly.
"The next is the Summer-room," he said, as they wandered on. "Thou
seest we are never idle. The world is so large, there is always plenty
to do; and what would become of it if it were not for the children?
They are the ones who make the world bright, little Doris; and so
everything depends upon their keeping their hearts glad; and one 's
heart cannot be glad if one's soul is not beautiful. Thou thoughtest
not so much depended upon the children, didst thou, dear heart?"
Oh, the wonders of that Summer-room! The perfect chorus that rose as
the fresh young voices taught the birds to sing; the beauty of the
rainbows, the glory of the sunsets. It was all so wonderful that Doris
scarcely knew how to show her appreciation of it all.
The Autumn-room was scarcely less bewildering, and the Winter-room was
so dazzling that Doris shut up her eyes for very wonder.
In the Autumn-room all the little musicians set about transposing the
melody of the bird-songs from the major to the minor key, and they
taught the Piper to bring his fifing into harmony with their voices.
The small artists began changing the sky-coloring, and brought about
such wonderful effects that it was marvellous to see, and Doris could
scarcely realize at all that such wonders could be.
After they had shown her the Winter-room and had seen her amazement at
the glory of the snow-crystals and the mysterious way in which the
rainbow colors were hidden in the ice, the Piper nodded his head, and
they all turned back and began to retrace their steps.
"I suppose thou didst wonder where we had been when thou didst join us,
little friend," said the Piper. "I will tell thee. In the spring we
all set out on our travels; for my children must see and learn, besides
showing and teaching others. So in the spring we leave this place and
go into the world. Then I go wandering about with my fife north and
south, east and west, and the people think me the wind. But my dear
children could not bear such fatigue; so they take up their abode in
the trees, and remain there guiding the seasons and seeing that all is
well; whispering to me as I pass and to one another, and singing softly
to the stars and the clouds, and then every one mistakes and thinks
them simply rustling leaves. Then, when I have finished my journeying,
I give them a sign, and they dress themselves in gala-costume,--for joy
at the thought of coming home,--and when every one is gay in red,
purple, and yellow, they all slip down from the trees and away we go.
People have great theories about the changing of the foliage, but it is
a simple matter; as I tell you, it is only that my children are getting
ready to go home.
"During the winter we leave the world to sleep, for it grows very weary
and needs rest. My children arrange its snow-coverlets for it, and
then it slumbers, and the moon and stars keep watch. So now thou
knowest all, little maid, and thou canst be one of us, and make the
world bright and glorious if thou wilt. It only needs a beautiful
soul, dear Doris; then one remains ever young, and can work many
wonders."
"Oh, I will, I will!" cried Doris, instantly.
"But," said the Piper, "it takes such long experience. Thou seest my
children had long years of it; and until thou canst make life bright
within, thou couldst not venture without. But if thou wilt try, and be
content to work in patience,--there are many children who are doing
this--"
"Oh, I will, I will!" said Doris, again.
Then the children laughed more happily than ever, and the Piper raised
his fife to his lips and blew a loud, glad note.
What was this? The children had disappeared, the Piper was gone, and
Doris sat by the window, and her book had dropped to the floor. She
rubbed her eyes.
"It was a dream," she said. "It is the Piper's wonderful way; he has
left me here to work and wait, so that I may make the world beautiful
at last." And she smiled and clapped her hands as the wind swept round
the corner.