“Ah,” said the mayor, “then let us reckon the heads. Have the kindness to bring them here that we may count them.”
The ratcatcher did not expect this treacherous stroke. He paled with anger, and his eyes flashed fire. “The heads!” he cried, “if you care about them, go and find them in the harbor.”
“So you refuse to hold to the terms of your bargain,” said the mayor. “We have good reason to refuse you all payment, but you have been of use to us, and we will be glad to recompense you to the extent of twenty pounds.”
“Keep your recompense to yourself,” retorted the ratcatcher proudly. “It would be better for you if you paid me quickly all that is my due. For I can pipe many kinds of tunes, as folk sometimes find to their cost. If you do not pay me I will be paid by your heirs.”
“Would you threaten us, you strolling vagabond?” shrieked the mayor. “Begone and do your worst now that the rats are drowned.”
“Very well,” said the Piper, and he pulled his hat down over his eyes, turned short on his heel, and left the hall.
The townspeople were much pleased over this outcome. They rubbed their hands gleefully, and laughed over the ratcatcher, who they said was caught in his own trap. Above all they laughed at his threat of getting himself paid by their heirs. “Ha, ha!”
But when the Piper reached the market-place, he again put his pipes to his lips. This time there came forth no shrill notes, but a tune that was joyous and resonant, full of happy laughter and merry play. At this call the children all ran forth to the Piper from schoolroom and playroom and nursery. Every little boy and girl in town hurried to the market-place, attracted by the magic music. Then the stranger began to walk up a street that led out of the town, and they followed him, dancing, laughing, and singing.
Small feet were pattering, wooden shoes clattering,
Little hands clapping and little tongues chattering.