r Child
plucked blades of grass, and gathered little twigs from trees, strewing
them down before Felix and Christlieb. But those blades of grass
presently turned into the prettiest little dolls ever seen; and the
twigs became delicious little huntsmen. The dolls danced round
Christlieb; let her take them up in her lap, and whispered, in delicate
little voices, "Be kind to us!--love us, dearest Christlieb!" The
hunters shouted, "Halloa! halloa! the hunt's up!" and blew their horns,
and bustled about. Then hares came darting out of the bushes, with dogs
after them, and the hunters banging about. This was delightful.

Then all disappeared again. Christlieb and Felix cried, "What has
become of the dolls? where are the hunters?" The Stranger Child said,
"Oh, they are all at your disposal; they are close by you at any moment
when you want them. But hadn't you rather come on through the wood a
little now?" "Oh, yes! yes!" cried Felix and Christlieb. The Stranger
Child took hold of their hands, crying, "Come; come!"

And with that they went off. But it could not be called "running,"
really, for the children floated along, lightly and easily, through
amongst the trees, whilst all the bird's went fluttering along beside
them, singing and warbling in the blithest fashion. All of a sudden up
they soared, far into the sky. "Good morning, children! Good morning,
Fritz, my crony!" cried the stork in the by-going.

"Don't hurt me! don't hurt me!" screamed the hawk. "I'm not going to
touch your pigeons." And he swept away as hard as his long wings would
carry him, alarmed at the children. Felix shouted with delight, but
Christlieb was frightened. "Oh, my breath's going!" she cried; "I shall
tumble!" And just at that moment the Stranger Child let them all
three down to the ground again, and said: "Now I shall sing you the
Forest-Song, as a good-bye for to-day. I shall come again to-morrow."
Then the Child took out a little horn, of which the golden windings
looked almost as if made of wreaths of flowers, and began to sound it
so beautifully that the whole wood echoed wondrously with the lovely
music of it, whilst the nightingales (which had come up fluttering as
if in answer to the horn's summons, and were sitting on the branches,
as close as they could to the children) sang their sweetest songs. But
all at once the music grew fainter and fainter, till nothing of it
remained but a soft whisper, which seemed to come from the thicket int