The good house-mother speaks, and not in vain,
For promptly all her willing brood obey.
They hear the dead leaves click against the pane,
Updriven by the wind in its mad play.
"One might be thankful that one need not stray
On such a night as this--'tis just the night
When the Wild Huntsman (as the people say),
With all his hounds is scouring heaven's height,
And you may see him if, as now, the moon be bright."
V
"It is an old and foolish tale. Be still,
For now, I think, your father's step I hear,
Though not the tune he whistles down the hill.
He comes--is at the door. Why, goodman, dear,
You're out of breath! Bad news you bring, I fear."
"Bad news" (the goodman smiles, with half a frown),
"But not for us; and so take heart of cheer.
I own I'm out of breath--but sit ye down
And hear the strangest thing e'er happened in this town."