And Master Wood-cutter and Master Broom-maker came on. But how they came! They slunk out of the woods in fear and trembling, teeth chattering, knees shaking, eyes bulging. They took but one look at the tumbledown hut and then made for the nearest tree, behind which they cowered, shivering from head to toe.
"Not so loud! Not so loud! Master Fiddler, please. She may hear you," they protested.
"Ha-ha-ha! Ha-ha-ha!" laughed the Fiddler. "Don't you want her to hear you? What did you come for, then, pray tell me?"
And so he half dragged, half pushed, the two cowardly braggarts toward the Witch's door.
"You may knock first," said the polite Broom-maker through his chattering teeth to the Wood-cutter.
"No, indeed. You may have the honor," responded the Wood-cutter, and his knees knocked together as he bowed.
Since there was no way out of it, the Broom-maker moved toward the door. He tapped once with the knuckle of his forefinger, gently, like a little mouse. Then in a wee, small voice, he said:
"Good wife, won't you buy a broom?"
No answer came from within the hut.
Emboldened by the silence, Master Wood-cutter joined his comrade at the door of the hut. Then he, too, rapped a little bit, just like a penny hammer.