“Let me out! let me out!”

Old Pipes instantly forgot that he was tired, and sprang to his feet.  “This must be a Dryad-tree!” he exclaimed.  “If it is, I’ll let her out.”

Old Pipes had never, to his knowledge, seen a Dryad-tree, but he knew there were such trees on the hill-sides and the mountains, and that Dryads lived in them.  He knew, too, that in the summer-time, on those days when the moon rose before the sun went down, a Dryad could come out of her tree if any one could find the key which locked her in, and turn it.  Old Pipes closely examined the trunk of the tree, which stood in the full moonlight.  “If I see that key,” he said, “I shall surely turn it.”  Before long he perceived a piece of bark standing out from the tree, which appeared to him very much like the handle of a key.  He took hold of it, and found he could turn it quite around.  As he did so, a large part of the side of the tree was pushed open, and a beautiful Dryad stepped quickly out.

For a moment she stood motionless, gazing on the scene before her,—­the tranquil valley, the hills, the forest, and the mountain-side, all lying in the soft clear light of the moon.  “Oh, lovely! lovely!” she exclaimed.  “How long it is since I have seen any thing like this!” And then, turning to Old Pipes, she said:  “How good of you to let me out!  I am so happy and so thankful, that I must kiss you, you dear old man!” And she threw her arms around the neck of Old Pipes, and kissed him on both cheeks.  “You don’t know,” she then went on to say, “how doleful it is to be shut up so long in a tree.  I don’t mind it in the winter, for then I am glad to be sheltered, but in summer it is a rueful thing not to be able to see all the beauties of the world.  And it’s ever so long since I’ve been let out.  People so seldom come this way; and when they do come at the right time they either don’t hear me, or they are frightened, and run away.  But you, you dear old man, you were not frightened, and you looked and looked for the key, and you let me out, and now I shall not have to go back till winter has come, and the air grows cold.  Oh, it is glorious!  What can I do for you, to show you how grateful I am?”

“I am very glad,” said Old Pipes, “that I let you out, since I see that it makes you so happy; but I must admit that I tried to find the key because I had a great desire to see a Dryad.  But if you wish to do something for me, you can, if you happen to be going down toward the village.”

“To the village!” exclaimed the Dryad.  “I will go anywhere for you, my kind old benefactor.”

“Well, then,” said Old Pipes, “I wish you would take this little bag of money to the Chief Villager and tell him that Old Pipes cannot receive pay for the services which he does not perform.  It is now more than a year that I have not been able to make the cattle hear me, when I piped to call them home.  I did not know this until to-night; but now that I know it, I cannot keep the money, and so I send it back.”  And, handing the little bag to the Dryad, he bade her good-night, and turned toward his cottage.