"Most honored wise-woman!" he whispered.
But no answer came. All was as still as before.
"There's no one at home," said both at once. And they strutted boldly to and fro, grinning from ear to ear.
"Stand aside!" said the Fiddler.
He pushed them away and strode toward the door. With his clenched fist he banged once, twice, thrice. And he lifted his voice. My, what a voice it was! The very woods rang with the sound of it.
"Witch! Hag! Foul woman!" he shouted. "Open the door!"
There was a moment's silence. But presently the door creaked on its rusty hinges, and there stood the Witch, in all her ugliness, leaning upon a cane.
The Wood-cutter and the Broom-maker gave her one glance and then, stricken with terror, they fled as fast as their legs could carry them to the first tree. There they waited, trembling and quaking, to see what the dread creature would do. They would not venture out, no, not they. They had wives and children to care for, and it was no business for men of their kind. No, indeed!
Meanwhile the Witch was croaking in her awful voice:
"Who comes here to my hut in the woods? Hey, fellows, what do you want?"