"It is my brother, I tell you!" said the child.

"Oh no," said the Angel, "that cannot be; and it seems a pity for you to
tell an untruth, because that makes spots on your soul. If it were your
brother, you would not beat him."

"But he has my cake!" said the child.

"Oh," said the Angel, "now I see my mistake. You mean that the cake is
your brother; and that seems a pity, too, for it does not look like a
very good cake,--and, besides, it is all crumbled to pieces."


THE PIED PIPER OF HAMELIN TOWN[1]

[Footnote 1: From traditions, with rhymes from Browning's _The Pied Piper
of Hamelin_.]

Once I made a pleasure trip to a country called Germany; and I went to a
funny little town, where all the streets ran uphill. At the top there was
a big mountain, steep like the roof of a house, and at the bottom there
was a big river, broad and slow. And the funniest thing about the little
town was that all the shops had the same thing in them; bakers' shops,
grocers' shops, everywhere we went we saw the same thing,--big chocolate
rats, rats and mice, made out of chocolate. We were so surprised that
after a while, "Why do you have rats in your shops?" we asked.

"Don't you know this is Hamelin town?" they said. "What of that?" said we.
"Why, Hamelin town is where the Pied Piper came," they told us; "surely
you know about the Pied Piper?" "_What_ about the Pied Piper?" we said.