“Good-night,” said the Dryad.  “And I thank you over, and over, and over again, you good old man!”

Old Pipes walked toward his home, very glad to be saved the fatigue of going all the way down to the village and back again.  “To be sure,” he said to himself, “this path does not seem at all steep, and I can walk along it very easily; but it would have tired me dreadfully to come up all the way from the village, especially as I could not have expected those children to help me again.”  When he reached home, his mother was surprised to see him returning so soon.

“What!” she exclaimed; “have you already come back?  What did the Chief Villager say?  Did he take the money?”

Old Pipes was just about to tell her that he had sent the money to the village by a Dryad, when he suddenly reflected that his mother would be sure to disapprove such a proceeding, and so he merely said he had sent it by a person whom he had met.

“And how do you know that the person will ever take it to the Chief Villager?” cried his mother.  “You will lose it, and the villagers will never get it.  Oh, Pipes!  Pipes! when will you be old enough to have ordinary common sense?”

Old Pipes considered that as he was already seventy years of age he could scarcely expect to grow any wiser, but he made no remark on this subject; and, saying that he doubted not that the money would go safely to its destination, he sat down to his supper.  His mother scolded him roundly, but he did not mind it; and after supper he went out and sat on a rustic chair in front of the cottage to look at the moonlit village, and to wonder whether or not the Chief Villager really received the money.  While he was doing these two things, he went fast asleep.

When Old Pipes left the Dryad, she did not go down to the village with the little bag of money.  She held it in her hand, and thought about what she had heard.  “This is a good and honest old man,” she said; “and it is a shame that he should lose this money.  He looked as if he needed it, and I don’t believe the people in the village will take it from one who has served them so long.  Often, when in my tree, have I heard the sweet notes of his pipes.  I am going to take the money back to him.”  She did not start immediately, because there were so many beautiful things to look at; but after a while she went up to the cottage, and, finding Old Pipes asleep in his chair, she slipped the little bag into his coat-pocket, and silently sped away.

The next day, Old Pipes told his mother that he would go up the mountain and cut some wood.  He had a right to get wood from the mountain, but for a long time he had been content to pick up the dead branches which lay about his cottage.  To-day, however, he felt so strong and vigorous that he thought he would go and cut some fuel that would be better than this.  He worked all the morning, and when he came back he did not feel at all tired, and he had a very good appetite for his dinner.