As the summer days went on, Old Pipes’s mother grew feebler and feebler.  One day when her son was away, for he now frequently went into the woods to hunt or fish, or down into the valley to work, she arose from her knitting to prepare the simple dinner.  But she felt so weak and tired that she was not able to do the work to which she had been so long accustomed.  “Alas! alas!” she said, “the time has come when I am too old to work.  My son will have to hire some one to come here and cook his meals, make his bed, and mend his clothes.  Alas! alas!  I had hoped that as long as I lived I should be able to do these things.  But it is not so.  I have grown utterly worthless, and some one else must prepare the dinner for my son.  I wonder where he is.”  And tottering to the door, she went outside to look for him.  She did not feel able to stand, and reaching the rustic chair, she sank into it, quite exhausted, and soon fell asleep.

The Dryad, who had often come to the cottage to see if she could find an opportunity of carrying out old Pipes’s affectionate design, now happened by; and seeing that the much-desired occasion had come, she stepped up quietly behind the old woman and gently kissed her on each cheek, and then as quietly disappeared.

In a few minutes the mother of old Pipes awoke, and looking up at the sun, she exclaimed:  “Why, it is almost dinner-time!  My son will be here directly, and I am not ready for him.”  And rising to her feet, she hurried into the house, made the fire, set the meat and vegetables to cook, laid the cloth, and by the time her son arrived the meal was on the table.

“How a little sleep does refresh one,” she said to herself, as she was bustling about.  She was a woman of very vigorous constitution, and at seventy had been a great deal stronger and more active than her son was at that age.  The moment Old Pipes saw his mother, he knew that the Dryad had been there; but, while he felt as happy as a king, he was too wise to say any thing about her.

“It is astonishing how well I feel to-day,” said his mother; “and either my hearing has improved or you speak much more plainly than you have done of late.”

The summer days went on and passed away, the leaves were falling from the trees, and the air was becoming cold.

“Nature has ceased to be lovely,” said the Dryad, “and the night-winds chill me.  It is time for me to go back into my comfortable quarters in the great oak.  But first I must pay another visit to the cottage of Old Pipes.”

She found the piper and his mother sitting side by side on the rock in front of the door.  The cattle were not to go to the mountain any more that season, and he was piping them down for the last time.  Loud and merrily sounded the pipes of Old Pipes, and down the mountain-side came the cattle, the cows by the easiest paths, the sheep by those not quite so easy, and the goats by the most difficult ones among the rocks; while from the great oak-tree were heard the echoes of the cheerful music.