"What do I want?" mocked the Fiddler, who had bravely stood his ground. Looking at her calmly, he dropped on one knee, with a comical smile:
"Ah, fair dame, those red, red eyes and that one yellow tooth of yours have made me sick with love and longing. Listen to my suit, I pray."
The Witch looked at him in surprise as he rose to his feet. Could it be that he was not afraid of her? He looked her straight in the eyes, fearless and brave. So she scowled. He smiled. She shook her cane. He laughed. Well! Well! Her magic was powerless against a man like that. Let him tell his tale and be gone.
So it came to pass that the Fiddler called the Wood-cutter and the Broom-maker and bade them state their business. But they bobbed and scraped and hemmed and hawed and chattered and giggled so long that the Fiddler had to come to the rescue.
The King of the World of Men had died, and since the King's Son had run away and could not be found, there was no one to rule the town of Hellabrun. So the people had sent the Wood-cutter and the Broom-maker to ask the Wise-Witch what was to be done. They wanted a ruler straightway and did not know where to find one.
The Witch pondered long, frowning savagely. Then she told the Wood-cutter and the Broom-maker to go back and tell the people that the first person who knocked at the town gate at noon on the morrow would be worthy to wear the crown.
Pleased with this prophecy the Wood-cutter and the Broom-maker hurried away through the grim forest toward the town of Hellabrun in the World of Men.
But the Fiddler did not go. He had caught a glimpse of a golden head and a pair of blue eyes at the window; and the sight of one so fair in such a hut told him that there was work for him to do here.
"Why do you stay?" snarled the Witch. The Fiddler gave her a sharp glance.
"I'm setting a snare for the little golden bird that you keep in the hut."