For she had chosen Browning’s “Pied Piper of Hamelin.”  That was surely “good;” and if it was long, why, it was “so interesting.”  As she went along she could almost see the rats as they “fought the dogs and killed the cats.”  She could almost see the great Mayor tremble as the people flocked to him and threatened to “send him packing” if he did n’t find some means to rid them of those awful rats.  She could almost hear the Pied Piper’s voice as he offered to clear the town of the pests; and it seemed to her she could hear the music of his pipe as he stepped into the street and began to play, while the rats from every hole and cranny followed him to the very banks of the Weser, where they were drowned in the rolling tide.

It seemed awful that after promising the Piper those fifty thousand guilders, the Mayor should break his word; and it certainly was terrible, when the Piper found he had been duped, that he should again begin to pipe, and that the children—­yes, every one in Hamelin Town—­should follow him just as the rats had done, and that by and by he should lead them to the mountain-side, that it should open, and that, lo! after they had all passed in, it should close again, leaving only one little lame boy outside, weeping bitterly because he had not been able to walk fast enough to keep up with the merry crowd.  It was all so distinct and plain.

She wondered where the children went after the hill-side shut them in.  She wondered what they saw.  She thought the Piper’s music must have been very odd indeed to charm them so.  She could almost hear—­ What was that?  She gave a start; for sure as you live, she heard the sound of a fife piping shrill and loud round the corner.  She flung down the book and ran into the street.  The air was cold and sharp and made her shiver, but she did not stop to think of that; she was listening to that Piper who was coming around the side of the house,—­nearer and nearer.  She meant to follow him, whoever he was.  There!  How the wind whistled and the leaves scurried!

Wind!  Leaves!  Why, it was the Pied Piper himself with his puffed cheeks and tattered coat; and before him ran the host of children, dancing, as they went, to the tune of the Piper’s fife.

Away—­away—­

With a bound Doris left the door-step and followed after, running and fluttering, skipping and skurrying, sometimes like a little girl and sometimes like a big leaf,—­she had n’t time to ask herself which she really was; for all the while she was listening to that wonderful fife as it whistled and wailed, shrieked and sighed, and seemed to coax them on all the while.

She followed blindly after the rest of the whirling crowd.

Away they went, always more and more,—­away they went, clear out of town and into the bare country,—­away they went; and the Piper behind them made his fife-notes shriller and louder, so that all could hear, and they seemed to be carried along in spite of themselves.