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.