begin to pipe, and that the children--yes, every one in Hamelin
Town--should follow him just as the rats had done, and that by and by
he should lead them to the mountain-side, that it should open, and
that, lo! after they had all passed in, it should close again, leaving
only one little lame boy outside, weeping bitterly because he had not
been able to walk fast enough to keep up with the merry crowd. It was
all so distinct and plain.

She wondered where the children went after the hill-side shut them in.
She wondered what they saw. She thought the Piper's music must have
been very odd indeed to charm them so. She could almost hear-- _What
was that_? She gave a start; for sure as you live, she heard the sound
of a fife piping shrill and loud round the corner. She flung down the
book and ran into the street. The air was cold and sharp and made her
shiver, but she did not stop to think of that; she was listening to
that Piper who was coming around the side of the house,--nearer and
nearer. She meant to follow him, whoever he was. There! How the wind
whistled and the leaves scurried!

Wind! Leaves! Why, it was the Pied Piper himself with his puffed
cheeks and tattered coat; and before him ran the host of children,
dancing, as they went, to the tune of the Piper's fife.

Away--away--

With a bound Doris left the door-step and followed after, running and
fluttering, skipping and skurrying, sometimes like a little girl and
sometimes like a big leaf,--she had n't time to ask herself which she
really was; for all the while she was listening to that wonderful fife
as it whistled and wailed, shrieked and sighed, and seemed to coax them