an. "I don't know one tune from
another; and if I did, my old fingers are as stiff as oak twigs."

"Blow in it," cried the children; and all the others came crowding
round, laughing and chattering and whispering to each other. "Is he
going to blow in it?" they asked. "He _is_ going to blow in it." How
they laughed!

The old man took the whistle, and gathered his breath and puffed out
his cheeks, and blew in the whistle-pipe as hard as he could. And
before he could take the whistle from his lips, three lively whips had
slipped out of it, and were beating him as hard as they could go,
although there was nobody to hold them. Phew! phew! phew! The three
whips came down on him one after the other.

"Blow again!" the children shouted, laughing as if they were mad.
"Blow again--quick, quick, quick!--and tell the whips to get into the
whistle."

The old man did not wait to be told twice. He blew for all he was
worth, and instantly the three whips stopped beating him. "Into the
whistle!" he cried; and the three lively whips shot up into the
whistle, like three snakes going into a hole. He could hardly have
believed they had been out at all if it had not been for the soreness
of his back.

"You take that home," cried the children. "That'll pay for the
turnips, and put everything right."

"Who knows?" said the old man; and he thanked the children, and set
off home through the green forest.

"Good-bye," cried the little queer children. But as soon as he had
started they forgot all about him. When he looked round to wave his
hand to them, not one of them was thinking of him. They were up again
on the roof of the hut, jumping over each other and dancing and
crawling about, and rolling each other down the roof and climbing up
again, as if they had been doing nothing else all day, and were going
to do nothing else till the end of the world.

The old man hobbled home through the green forest with the whistle
stuck safely away into his shirt. As soon as he came to the door of
the hut, the old woman, who was sitting inside counting the gold
pieces, jumped up and started her scolding.

"What have the children tricked you with this time?" she screamed at
him.

"They gave me a whistle-pipe," says the old man, "and they are not
going to steal the turnips any more."

"A whistle-pipe!" she screamed. "What's the good of that? It's worse
than the tablecloth and the skinny old goat."

The old man said nothing.

"Give it to me!"