“Leave it to the mayor,” said the councilors one to the other.
“Show him in,” said the mayor, and the beadle soon brought the ratcatcher before them.
“I am called the Pied Piper,” he said, “and ratcatching is my trade. What would you pay me to rid you of every rat in the town?”
Much as they disliked the rats they disliked parting with their money still more, and they fain would have higgled and haggled. But the Piper was not a man to stand nonsense, and the upshot of the matter was that they agreed to pay him at the rate of a penny a head as soon as there was not a rat left to squeak or scurry in the place.
The bagpiper announced that he would operate that very evening when the moon rose, and he requested that the inhabitants should leave the streets free, and content themselves with looking out of their windows while he was at his task.
When the townspeople heard of the bargain they exclaimed: “A penny a head! This will cost us a great deal of money!”
“Leave it to the mayor,” said the town councilors with a sly shrug of the shoulders.
Toward nine o’clock the Piper reappeared in the market-place, and as soon as the moon showed above the roofs he put his bagpipes to his lips and began a shrill, keen tune that penetrated to the remotest nooks and alleys of the town. Then a strange sight was seen. From every hole the rats came tumbling, and ran to the market-place, until it was so full of them that the pavement was hidden from sight. At length the piper faced about, and, still playing briskly, went down a street that led toward the harbor. At his heels followed the rats with eager feet and upturned noses. Every fifty yards he stopped and gave an extra flourish of the pipes while he waited for the toddling little rats and the less vigorous ones to catch up with those that were stronger. Meanwhile the townsfolk looked on from their windows, and many a blessing they called down on his head.
When he reached the harbor and had marched to the outer end of a wharf, he turned about and looked at the multitude of rats. “Hop, hop!” he cried, pointing with his finger toward the water.
Not far from the end of the wharf a big whirlpool had formed, and the rats, obedient to the Piper’s orders, began to leap from the wharf, and swim straight to the center of the whirlpool, where they disappeared. This continued till midnight, when only one rat was left—a big rat, white with age, who dragged himself along with difficulty. It was the king of the band.